The Prisoner and the Occlumens
by duskywolfdaemon
Summary: Hermione's plans to spend her seventh year on the run with her friends are shattered when Severus Snape shows up with a proposal she cannot refuse. *AU 7th year with Hermione attending Hogwarts. Eventual SSHG. M for reasons.*
1. Chapter 1

The Prisoner and the Occlumens

A/N 1: This is a labour of love and is done for educational and recreational purposes only. These characters belong to the illustrious J.K. Rowling. I am merely borrowing them. This statement applies to every subsequent chapter of this story as well.

A/N 2: This work is rated M for a reason. If you take issue with adult themes, I suggest you stop reading now.

A/N 3: I currently have over 48,000 words of this story written. It is approximately half done. The rest of it has been carefully plotted, and I hope to update weekly, but I'm not going to commit to a particular day or schedule at this time. Reviews might inspire quicker updates, however. Also, I'm going for a nice slow burn with this one ;)

Chapter 1

It was night when he came.

"Mum?" Hermione whispered into the dark hallway. She'd always hated this feeling: late at night, awake and alone, hearing things. Her wand was warm in her fingers, but dread suffused her chest. The lights were still off so it was unlikely that her father was up getting a midnight snack. There it was again. A shift in the air, a low buzzing. And something at her feet –

"Crookshanks!" Hermione hissed at the cat winding between her ankles. "You almost scared me to death. What are you doing?"

Her familiar gave her an unfathomable look before climbing gracefully down the stairs and disappearing into the gloom of the ground floor. She went forward tentatively, reasoning that Crooks's kneazle-senses would have precluded his nonchalant descent toward that sound if it were of sinister origin – there it was again. A feeling of _something_ washing over her, almost prickling her, static ringing in her ears. It was stronger now.

At the bottom of the stairs, she searched for Crookshanks, and quickly spotted his glinting eyes at the base of the door leading to the foyer.

"Is someone there, Crooks?" Hermione asked. The eyes blinked at her, once. She gripped her wand tightly as she opened the door to the foyer; there, against the dark of the night, someone was silhouetted against the frosted glass of the front door. Crookshanks meowed softly, almost mournfully, and just as Hermione was going to look back at him the figure knocked softly at the door.

Hermione ducked back out of the foyer briefly to cast Muffliato up the stairs towards her parents' room. This was odd. Dumbledore's funeral had been nearly three weeks ago, and she wasn't due to meet up with the Order to plan Harry's retrieval for another week. She'd wanted this time specifically; she would be parting from her parents afterwards, possibly permanently. Now was her time to catch up with them, build some long-overdue memories, before –

Shaking her head and gathering herself, Hermione turned back to the shape at the front door.

"Who's there?" she called softly.

The answer was a small shower of sparks, red and gold, that lit the frosted window in a cascade of bloody, fiery snowflakes. _Harry, you idiot,_ she thought as she unbolted the door and flung it wide. His back was to her, the faint light of a streetlamp behind him, but she immediately registered his height, his hair, the wand at his side.

"No!" She tried to close the door, a split-second reflex that was countered when he turned around and slammed a hand against it. She raised her wand, summoning her power, thinking it as hard as she could: _Protego!_

"Protego from what, exactly, Miss Granger?" seethed the voice of Severus Snape. He loomed over her, holding the door open easily despite her attempts to push it closed, staring down his hooked nose and into her eyes. "Have I offered you violence?"

She didn't answer, but redoubled the power of the shield charm, glaring into dark eyes made darker by the night.

"You may lower your shield, Miss Granger." With a flick of his wrist, his wand disappeared up his sleeve. "I have come in peace, and with a proposal."

When he let go of the door she realised that she had stepped back and away from it. Confusion stole over Hermione. It felt wrong to hold a primed wand on an opponent who had effectively disarmed himself. She let the charm dissipate, but still held her wand on Snape.

"What do you want?" she demanded, satisfied that her voice sounded stronger than she felt. It boosted her courage, and her anger flared. "How dare you come here, you - you –"

"Bastard?" he finished her sentence coldly. She felt herself flush. She'd never deprecated him, never participated in the gleeful and – later – hateful abuse Harry and Ron had thrown at this man. He stepped forward, one foot over the threshold. "But I _am_ here, Miss Granger, and with an offer I doubt you'll refuse."

"No," she said, wand still in hand. "No. Get out."

She didn't see it happen. One moment she stood her ground, wand raised, chin up, Gryffindor defiance in every line of her body. He'd shifted his weight, that's all. And she'd been falling backwards, and her vine wand, still warm from its contact with her hand, soared up traitorously to be claimed by Snape. He closed the door silently after he stepped inside her home.

"Do get up off the floor, Miss Granger," he said with quiet disdain. His hand suddenly appeared before her, long-fingered and starkly white in the dim glow of the street lamp outside. When she stared at it, he huffed indignantly and reached down to grasp her by the elbow. "As I told you, I am not here to offer you violence. But do not try my patience tonight."

"Let _go_ of me," she bit out, wrenching her arm from his grip and leaning against the wall to pick herself up as quickly as possible. She faced him again, and felt herself giving him a sneer every bit as fierce as the one he bestowed upon her. "What the hell do you want, Snape?"

"Eloquent as always, Miss Granger. I _do_ admire the succinctness with which you speak this evening. Perhaps your essays next year will reflect this newfound concision – one only hopes that you hold off the parroting and paraphrasing long enough to say something not only relevant but interesting as well."

"Fuck you," Hermione spat, feeling herself reddening, feeling that now more than when he surprised her, when he took her wand, when he entered her home – _now_ he was winning.

"Indeed."

He raised an eyebrow at her and stepped from the foyer into the house proper, with Hermione scrambling to follow him.

"No –" she began, but he cut her off again, speaking over his shoulder as he walked into the kitchen and switched the lights on.

"Yes, Miss Granger. You will hear me out, and then you will make your decision. You have nothing to fear from me for the moment, and my generosity this evening extends to the other members of the household as well."

He sat down at the table and waved a hand lazily, indicating that she should sit down opposite him. She glared at him, standing her ground silently by the counter, between him and the rest of the house. Between him and her parents.

He looked terrible in the bright light of the kitchen. His cheekbones stood out sharply under his haunting eyes, and his stringy hair looked even greasier than usual. His sallow complexion was waxy, and there was a definite rumple in his typically pristine black robes. Crookshanks, she noticed dimly, was back at her ankles, staring at Snape, who placed something hard and shiny on the surface of the table.

"Well?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Hermione leaned forward to look at the trinket. It was a badge with four fields of colour: red, green, yellow and blue, with their attendant sigils of lion, serpent, badger, and eagle. The words Head Girl gleamed across the fields on a pewter banner.

"What?" she asked, bewildered, staring between Snape and the badge. "What is this, Professor?"

She almost bit her tongue off, recognising that her sudden curiosity had pushed her right back into the habit of deferring to him as her teacher. If he noticed her use of the honorific, he didn't show it. Instead, he leaned back in the chair and stretched his legs out.

"It is precisely what it seems, Miss Granger. It is the position I offer you, should you agree to return to Hogwarts this year."

"But – but you're not in a position to make that offer," she said, feeling rage wash over her once more, drowning out her earlier confusion. "You _murdered_ your employer. You led your band of Death Eater friends into the school. You _assaulted_ Professor Flitwick – you – "

"When you are through listing my activities last term, I will move forward with my proposal," he snapped, and she saw that, despite his relaxed posture, he was wound up like a coil, ready to spring at any moment. Fear made her stomach drop. His face, contorted with anger, suddenly went blank, and he continued more calmly. "You will return as Head Girl when I return as Headmaster. Our respective posts will be secure by the first of September. In exchange for your enrolment this year at Hogwarts and your agreement to the position of Head Girl and all that it requires, I shall remove your parents to a safe house known only to myself. They will enjoy a comfortable, undisturbed life there, and I will personally guarantee their security. You will be welcome to communicate with them regularly, of course, and their whereabouts will remain unknown to my fellow Death Eaters and to the Dark Lord." He cracked his knuckles, and looked at her. When she said nothing, he sighed sufferingly. "I'm sure you have questions, Miss Granger, so let's hear them."

Hermione felt her jaw clenching so much that it hurt. She'd heard him, of course, but she had to turn away from him and replay his words in her mind in order to truly accept what he was saying. She felt tears coursing down her cheeks. _When did I start crying?_ she wondered vaguely, swiping at them before she turned back to him. He held her eyes immediately, and she felt her stomach swoop again.

"And if I say no?" she whispered.

"I will step aside, Miss Granger," he said, his voice descending into the silky tones he used with Harry in their Potions classes. "And what I have delayed on your behalf will occur." He leaned forward, the overhead light etching the lines into his face more deeply. "Did you think that they could remain thus unprotected, Miss Granger? Did it not occur to your _friends_ to take you and your _Muggle_ _family_ to safety?"

"I put up protection," she replied, her tongue heavy in her mouth. "I did everything I could to – " Tears were sliding down her cheeks, and if she didn't stop talking she would start sobbing.

"It was not enough, Miss Granger." He waved an elegant hand between the two of them. "Obviously. But my protection will be."

"How?" she asked, trying to feel angry, trying to reclaim some of her courage through her tears. "How can I believe anything you say? _Why_ do you even want me to be Head Girl?"

"You can believe that if I leave here without your parents they will be dead by morning." His tone was neutral now, but brisk. "You can believe that you will be safe at Hogwarts. And you can believe that having one member of the Golden Trio well within reach will benefit the next Headmaster of Hogwarts."

"You'll use me to get to Harry!" she blurted out, realising it as she said it. " _He'll_ use me to –"

"Perhaps, if it comes to that, but I doubt it. You will certainly provide a type of insurance, Miss Granger, but your primary function will be that of intermediary between my interests and those of the student population."

Her jaw dropped.

"It's about _politics_?" she asked, incredulous. "You can't be serious."

His posture stiffened suddenly, and the air in the room seemed to grow cold. He stood up and walked towards her, his wand held loosely in one hand, his steps precise. She had noticed long ago that his movements contained the economical grace of a large predator, and that the true breadth of his strength was kept carefully in line – and aligned – with the perfectly measured way he moved. It took everything Hermione had to stand her ground as he drew close to her, well within her personal space. He smelled of something acrid and poisonous, and she felt the coolness radiating from him as he purposefully intimidated her against the kitchen counter.

"I assure you," he hissed, "I am perfectly serious. We will build a new wizarding order this coming year, Miss Granger, and you _will_ be part of it. You will be a symbol of capitulation, of acceptance, of _enlightenment_." She shook her head from side to side, leaning as far back against the counter as she could. His hand snaked out and grasped her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. "You, insufferable know-it-all, will teach those around you the lesson you are learning tonight: that you either accept what is offered –" his eyes glinted menacingly – "or you watch those you love die long, lingering deaths."

For such a profound, sudden change, it hadn't taken long at all. Casting one last frightened look at the dark man in the kitchen, Hermione had run upstairs to rouse her parents. She'd still been crying, but had managed to explain the situation – a version of the situation – coherently enough that, after promising her a stern talking-to for her previous lack of forthrightness, the Doctors Granger had changed out of their pyjamas, and had allowed Hermione to pack for them by magic. In a trice, it seemed, she was introducing them to Professor Snape, who cast her a lingering glance when her parents took his unproffered hand eagerly in greeting. She had not told her parents of his betrayal, of the Dark Lord's return, nor just about anything else, and now they believed that they were going to a safe house run by the Order of the Phoenix instead of a prison where they would be held hostage by a Death Eater.

Snape shrank their bags, and they all set out into the darkness of the London night. Her parents took the apparition as well as could be expected, although it would have been smoother if, as Hermione had suggested, she had apparated them one at a time herself after knowing where they were going. Snape snorted and told them that the house's protection would disallow anyone but him to control apparition within range. Hermione tried not to look disappointed as she joined hands with Snape on one side and her mother on the other, an awkward semi-circle in the shadows of their suburban street.

They arrived in front of a ramshackle house on a narrow road.

"Where are we, sir?" Hermione asked as Snape moved forward to unlock the front door.  
"My house, such as it is," he replied, turning the key. He opened the door with a sarcastic flourish. "Welcome."

It was nearly a hovel, and Hermione could feel her parents' trepidation redoubling as they all looked around. Dank and musty, messy and mouldering, it was more ruin than home. Surprise stole through her – she had never pictured him at home before, but _this_ would have been the last thing she'd have imagined.

"I apologize for the state of the place," Snape said. Hermione stared at him. He sounded sincere. "I will, of course, bring it up to code within the next few days in order to ensure your comfort in the coming months." He returned her stare and, when her mother and father turned their backs to peer into the tiny kitchen, he gave her a minute shrug, before continuing, "There is a bedroom set aside for you upstairs – in better condition than the ground floor, I assure you. I will have groceries sent in from the outside regularly, and you may write to your daughter whenever you wish should any further needs arise."

"Frequently," Hermione bit out, as assertively as she could. "I want to hear from you at least once every three days." She looked away from her professor's glittering eyes. "To ensure that you're both ok."

Her parents agreed, and thanked the dark man again, shook his hand, and hugged Hermione for so long that she nearly squirmed. Snape was watching them, and she tried not to cry again as her eyes met his and she was hit hard with the falseness of this façade.

Wondering if she'd ever see her parents again, Hermione left them in the mouldy old house, following Snape down the front steps.

"Can't I stay with them?" she asked him, fighting to keep her voice steady.

He shook his head. She noticed that he looked weary now, and impatient.

"You will return home and pack your school trunk like every other year, and then await your summons to the Burrow."

"Sir, what if – what about –" she cut herself off, unsure of how to say it, but needing to voice the question that had occurred to her as soon as he'd closed the door on her parents.

He glanced at her sharply.

"What now, girl?"

"I just… you said that I would be Head Girl." She looked from her shoes to his face. It was almost too dark to see him, out here in the street. "But I'm mugglebo– a mud – "

" _That_ , Miss Granger, is none of your concern."

"But –"

He stepped close to her once more, seizing her upper arm. A shaft of moonlight illuminated his gaunt face, his harsh features. Despite his grip, his face was a mask of neutrality. _Occlumency_ , Hermione thought, before he shook her slightly as though he'd sensed her momentary distraction.

"I _said_ that it is none of your concern, Granger." He released her abruptly. "Now get out of here. And," menace flashed across his face, "if you tell anyone – _any_ one –"

She felt herself nodding vigourously. He nodded to her once in return, and then unceremoniously thrust her wand into her hand along with the Head Girl badge.

"I shall see you, Miss Granger, on the first of September."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you to everyone who took the time to read, review, follow and fav. Here's a little exposition and plot thickening for you.

* * *

Chapter 2

She didn't have long to wait before she would leave for the Burrow, but Hermione used the time to her advantage. After setting the house to rights – the rushed packing hadn't been neat, despite her use of magic – she sat down and had a long cry. Exhausted, she fell asleep at the kitchen table, arms wrapped around Crookshanks, hair fanning out wildly around them both.

She awoke as suddenly as she'd fallen asleep. It was barely first light, and the half-kneazle purred a morning greeting to her, but Hermione barely noticed.

"They'll question me," she said aloud. Crookshanks stopped purring and caught her eyes. She looked wanly at him before explaining. "Snape says I'll be safe atHogwarts, but if he's the headmaster, that would mean Death Eaters in Hogwarts… and V-Voldemort will want to question me about… everything."

She got up from the table immediately, groaning a bit at the crick in her back. She started pacing, her mind jumping ahead of itself, racing to keep up with what she had been too exhausted and panicked to fully realize the previous night. She was now well within reach of the Death Eaters, and of Voldemort himself. Although Snape had claimed to want her as Head Girl for political manoeuvring, it wouldn't be his sole reasoning; the Head of Slytherin would have ulterior motives. She shook her head, petting Crookshanks absentmindedly.

"We leave to get Harry in a week," she told him. "That _might_ be enough time to start preparing… something. Be back in a bit, Crooks."

Waving her wand to change her appearance and clothing, she stalked to the front door.

* * *

It was past midday when Hermione stumbled back home. Her glamours were barely holding, and she realized that aside from being tired she was also extremely hungry. She put her packages onto the kitchen counter and fixed a quick lunch for herself (tomato soup) and Crookshanks (tuna).

Afterwards, she unwrapped the smallest package first, placing the tiny little bottle on a high shelf in the kitchen before turning to the rest. The largest package contained a tome entitled _Mind of Mettle: an Advanced Guide to Occlumency_ by Artemis Sentinella. It, and the other beginner's books on the subject, had been easy to come by; they'd seemed to be waiting for her on a back shelf in Flourish and Blotts. However, _Dividing Mind: Picking Your Own Brain (Apart)_ by Conjunctivus Escutcheon, had taken her all over Knockturn Alley to find. She shuddered as she handled the book, whose black leather cover featured a skull cloven in two with silver wisps of thought matter pouring out. The final package contained a small bottle of Dreamless Sleep.

Aside from daily missives to her parents, who reported that Snape had modified the house as he'd promised, Hermione spent the following seven days immersed in Occlumency study and practice, stopping only when Crookshanks nudged her – and only to eat small meals and, late at night, to take ever-increasing doses of Dreamless Sleep.

The beginner's manuals had been next to useless – Hermione mastered the basic concepts of mind magic in a matter of hours. There was more of value from Sentinella, starting with one simple fact: Professor Snape had _not_ attempted to teach Harry Occlumency during the fifth year. The book dedicated an entire chapter to the importance of _not_ blanking one's mind in the face of an attack. It transpired that Occlumency was based not on _lack_ of thinking, but on _constructed_ thinking. As Sentinella instructed, Hermione began to segregate her thoughts from her emotions, filing them into separate cabinets in her Mind's Eye, the venue where Occlumency should take place – a blank stage of sorts that could be formed to suit the individual witch's needs, and which Hermione visualised as a bright office space. It was a little hard at first, but classifying, filing, and generally sorting through things was something Hermione did extremely well, and with substantial relish.

Toward the end of the week, Hermione bravely turned her attention to Escutcheon. Immediately glad that she had her Mind's Eye in action, Hermione was able to carefully separate her disgust from her fascination with the material. Escutcheon advocated a method he called Intercisionto carefully cut pieces of the mind away from the larger Mind's Eye to be stored in the farthest recesses of the brain, where the basic functions took place. It would be nearly impossible for a Legilimens to find these pieces without killing the victim. It was dark reading indeed. Escutcheon warned of dire consequences should any part of Intercision be unsuccessful: it was possible to cut away parts of one's own soul. She wouldn't do it, she told herself.

 _But the Horcruxes. If Voldemort finds out what I know about the Horcruxes… and Harry's hunt for them…_

Although she gained confidence in her ability to Occlude, Hermione was aware that she was not actually practicing Occlumency. She needed a Legilimens to do that correctly, although she had managed a decent simulation using the Veritaserum she'd procured from an apothecary in Nocturne Alley. She'd spent twenty Galleons on the tiny bottle of clear liquid, and she was intensely glad she'd bought it. After dosing herself, she would try _not_ to answer the detailed questions she'd printed out onto flashcards. It was something, at least, if not a fully functional method of practice for a Legilimency attack, and her tolerance for Veritaserum would preclude its use against her as long as she kept taking it daily.

But she felt that she was not fully prepared for the worst. For Intercision. The files of memories, thoughts, and stray ideas labelled "sensitive" were carefully delineated in her Mind's Eye. She envisioned a bright blade, sharp and true, sparking with magic and intention. Every day, she prepared to slice away the highlighted files, to cut them out, and wedge them back. She started to prepare a space in the recesses of her mind for it. This was the hardest part because making space around her autonomous nervous system was careful, time-consuming, terrifying work without room for trial and error. Unless she was able to prepare fully, the memories _would_ go back there should she perform the operation, but they would be irretrievable, as would she. It would put both her reserve of memories and herself beyond the reach of anything Voldemort could do.

* * *

The Burrow was a-bustle yet sombre. Despite the jokes he and Fred made about it, George's wound was ghastly. The entire household was preparing feverishly for Bill and Fleur's wedding, but the loss of Moody and Hedwig weighed heavily on him, Ron and Hermione, and the latter had to work hard indeed to keep from blurting out that she had terrible news of her own.

The matter was brought to a head one morning with the arrival of The Daily Prophet. Mrs. Weasley handed the paper to Bill, who spat coffee all over it upon seeing the front page.

"What is it, Bill dear? Is someone hurt?" Mrs. Weasley asked him immediately, wiping at his face with a dishcloth.

"No, Mum, get _off_!" he glanced up and met Hermione's eyes from across the breakfast table. She felt her stomach drop. He used his wand to set the paper to rights before handing it over. "You should see this, Hermione," he said, quailing his mother's immediate protests with a dark look.

Hermione nodded in thanks before looking down at it.

"What the fuck?" Ron exclaimed next to her, earning a smart smack across the back of the head from Mrs. Weasley, who peered over Hermione's shoulder to read as well. "Ouch, Mum!"

The headline merited spat coffee, heated exclamations, and the trembling that now infused Hermione's hands, making the entire paper shake.

"Let me, 'Mione," Harry murmured, taking the paper from her and laying it out on the table across their plates.

HERMIONE GRANGER: HIDDEN HALF-BLOOD! by Rita Skeeter, special correspondent

 _In a startling development last night, this reporter was made privy to news that will shake the wizarding world to its very core. An impeccable source confirms with proof by Pensieve, medical records, and registered correspondences that Hermione Granger, well-known Muggle-born and best friend of The Chosen One, is, in fact, a Half-blood. It transpires that Granger's mother had a short yet torrid affair with a wizard who, unfortunately, remains anonymous, but who fathered the young witch and broke with her Muggle mother soon thereafter. This reporter has seen the evidence and can say with utmost certainty that that great bastion of house elf rights, that proof positive that Muggle-borns can exceed the expectations of wizarding kind, is not Muggle-born at all –_

The article went on. And on. It both extoled and undermined all of Hermione's involvement in Harry's life, and all of her academic accomplishments. It provided a detailed timeline, a list of her mother's lies to her father, and their previous history of infertility. All of it fabricated, and all of it now on the public record. Hermione felt herself almost start crying, somewhere remotely, but she carefully tucked that whinging part of herself away into her Mind's Eye.

"Is this true? Did you know?" Harry asked. He looked pale and furious, as he always did after reading Rita Skeeter. His green eyes flashed and his scar stood out sharper than usual.

"Of course she didn't," Ron said, putting his arm around her shoulders and handing her his handkerchief. Hermione tried for a moment to accept the comfort he offered, but shrugged him away. She couldn't. Not when this was an utter lie, and she was complicit in it. Not when she had her head down, her face hidden by her mass of hair to conceal that she was _not_ crying.

"Oh, Hermione dear," Mrs. Weasley said tearfully. "And to have that foul woman spreading news like this all over the wizarding – "

Hermione fled the table, almost toppling her chair over backwards in her need to get away. She ran upstairs to Ginny's room and slammed the door shut, using her wand to lock and ward it before sitting down on her camp bed.

 _How could he? How_ dare _he! Didn't he fuck with my life enough? How the hell am I going to show my face_ anywhere _after this?_

* * *

"What do you mean 'the two of you?" Ron asked forcefully, standing up abruptly from his bed.

"Shh, Ron!" Hermione put down the book she was holding ( _Hogwarts: A History_ ), and placed a restraining hand on his arm. "Do you want your mother to find us all up here together?"

"But you can't mean that you won't be coming with us! What will you do? Where will you _go_?" Ron stared at her pleadingly.

"I'm going back to Hogwarts."

"Hermione, no." This time it was Harry who spoke up. "I don't think you'll be safe – "

"What about Ginny, then?" she asked him. "You'll send her back to Hogwarts, but not me?"

"She's different," he answered. "She's not as heavily connected with me as you are. If the Death Eaters find out –"

"They'll leave me well enough alone. Don't you two see?" She looked between her two best friends, heart aching at telling them more lies. She neutralized her emotions once more before continuing, "I'll be fine. Ron's supposedly being sick with Spattergroit will emphasize the fact that Harry is _alone_. They won't care about me."

"But Hermione," Ron said quietly, looking pained, "they'll capture you. They'll _torture_ you. They'll use you to get to Harry – "

"That's true of absolutely everyone that Harry knows, Ron," she said, concentrating on keeping her voice calm, and on not looking at Harry. She knew what this admission would do to him, but she pressed on. "We can't all stay in hiding forever. And I'll be more useful at Hogwarts than with the two of you."

"How do you figure?" Harry asked. He looked pained, but not angry.

 _He's grown up now_ , she realized, _and he never needed Occlumency to calm his emotions. It's compassion he needed_ …

This was it – time to make the pitch. If she could convince Harry now, it would all fall into place beautifully, horribly, perfectly. At least Snape had set things up for her neatly enough.

"I'll have full access to the library, the ghosts, the castle itself and all of its resources," she answered. "I've already asked Fred and George to figure out a way for us to communicate, and I'll be able to help the Order while I'm there. I can be a go-between so that you and Ron aren't completely isolated."

"And if the Death Eaters take Hogwarts?" Ron asked harshly. " _When_ they take it?"

"I'm Half-blood now," she sharpened her voice, and stood up to turn away from him. "There's proof, according to Skeeter, and I'll get my hands on it first thing – she can't keep her sources from me, not after printing that filth."

It was the first time she had spoken of the article since it had come out the day before.

"You mean you really think she's right?" Ron asked, side-tracked.

Hermione nodded, her back still to him. Emotions tucked carefully away, she put on her best know-it-all face, turned around, and faced him.

"Yes," she proclaimed. "There are archaic – and very strict – magical laws in place that prohibit the defamation of one's family name. If she didn't have proof to back up her claims of my mother's infidelity, I would be able to file a grievance against her. Given my history with the _beetle_ -" Ron grinned briefly " - I sincerely doubt she'll have done her homework incorrectly. But I _will_ check."

"Who'd have thought we'd ever see the day," Ron said, "when our Hermione is trying to get _us_ to believe something Skeeter says."

Hermione swatted at him, and then continued sorting through the books, some to be packed in the beaded bag, and some to be left behind. She was almost through preparing for the boys to leave and though she longed to add her things to theirs, she had carefully made a separate copy of the beaded bag for herself.

After a few minutes, Ron excused himself for a bathroom break.

"What are you not telling us, Hermione?" Harry asked as soon as Ron closed the door.

She caught her breath when she looked at Harry. He sat across from her on his camp bed, hands folded beneath his chin, intensity radiating off of him despite his apparent calm. Her Mind's Eye had been up since before she started this conversation, and as she looked at Harry Hermione felt it strengthen. She needed to be calm now; she needed to match him this once. He had always been savvier than her – she had the brains, she knew that, and Ron had the heart – but Harry… Harry was sharp in a way she never would be.

"Don't you see the – "

"Yes, I get the benefits of your plan. What I want to know is how and when and _why_ you suddenly came up with it."

"Are you angry with me?" she asked, hearing her voice climb in defensiveness as she reached for the emotion in her Mind's Eye. Good. Distract him. "You're angry that I – "

"Not at all," Harry interrupted. "But I need you to answer my question. What's really going on? And why do you keep looking like that? What's _happened_?"

Hermione felt herself sway, her Mind's Eye straining. She focused inwards, she could do this.

"When did you learn how to do it, Hermione?"

"What?"

She felt like his eyes were x-raying her.

"When did you learn Occlumency?" he asked.

The visualisation collapsed, leaving her with a jumble of – everything. She met Harry's eyes again, and felt the difference; she could see _him_ , not just how he looked and what he represented within this conversation, within her set of goals for the day and the larger plans she had. She could see her best friend and confidant, she could see his concern for her, and she could feel her affection for him. All of it at once, collapsing onto her.

"I – I don't know – what you – " she stuttered, reeling.

"Yeah, you do." He leaned forward, studying her. "I spent _months_ in fifth year trying to learn that from Snape. Then I spent half of sixth year in detention with him. You think I don't know Occlumency when I see it?"

And now the one emotion she had tamped down furiously over and over again since _that_ night – since the sparks and the dark knowing eyes and the overstuffed suitcases – the _panic_ flooded her so that she felt horribly buoyant with it.

"I can't talk to you about this," she whispered finally, feeling her eyes fill with tears. It was too much, to _feel_ again. She realized that she had been using her Mind's Eye to the fullest extent she could since before even arriving at the Burrow. Now that Harry had shut it down, she felt exposed, raw, sensitive, and profoundly exhausted.

"Well, at least you're talking now."

"What was I doing before?" she asked, horrified that she'd somehow let everything slip to everyone.

"I don't know. But you sounded off. Like you were always straining for something." He looked less fierce now, but no less determined. "Why were you Occluding, Hermione?"

"Because I don't know how to do this otherwise, Harry!" she burst out, feeling tears pouring down her cheeks. Ron would be back any moment, but she couldn't stop herself from crying. Finally, she told him the truth: "Because I need it for when the Death Eaters _do_ take Hogwarts. And for when I have to face V-Voldemort on my own."

He nodded. He didn't look fierce anymore; his green eyes were concerned, and desperately sad.

"I guess you can't tell me anything else. I don't reckon you'd do this if you didn't have to." He waited a moment, and she nodded. "But I do want to ask you anyway." He set his jaw, and looked apologetic. "Hermione, where are your parents?"

She shook her head, fighting hard now against the tears.

"I can't, Harry. I – I can't say another word about it. If h-he finds out –"

"Voldemort? Hermione, _please_ tell me. This is my fault – you're in this because – "

" _No_ ," she said, wishing she could tell him and share some of this burden, some of the panic and _guilt_. "No. If I do, he'll – he'll – "

Hermione felt a sob break just as the door opened and Ron came back in. He rushed to her, glaring at Harry before putting his arm around her shoulders in a gesture that was becoming achingly familiar.

"Harry! What did you do?" Ron demanded.

"Nothing," Hermione answered for him. "I'm just sad that I won't be coming with you two."

Harry nodded, his eyes holding hers as Ron held her. And, as she offered him a watery smile, Hermione reflected that the wizarding world might not be so doomed after all.

* * *

"Here they are," said Fred, handing Hermione two pieces of parchment with a flourish. "Matched and mated."

"Breath is bated," George said. "Is that what we should call them, Fred?"

"Breath is bated?"

"No, what you said."

"When?"

"Just now."

"No," Hermione cut in repressively. "You both agreed to _forget_ these items until the war is good and over."

"Ah, 'matched and mated,' you mean," Fred said, waving Hermione's protests away airily.

Smiling at the twins and shaking her head, Hermione handed one parchment to Ron. She tapped hers with her wand. Nothing happened.

"Uh…" Hermione began, puzzled.

The twins just grinned, and for a moment Hermione forgot some of her trepidation and anxiety at this vision of proud mischief before her.

"Oy!" Ron yelled, dropping his parchment in surprise. It had turned from snowy white to inky black, as though it had been charred through.

"That happens if you need to communicate in real time," Fred explained, examining his fingernails nonchalantly. "It alerts the other party that a message is forthcoming."

"In real time?" Hermione asked, incredulous. "But how – "

"Ah, ah, ah," George tapped the side of his nose, "can't expect us to give up our special, soon-to-be patented secrets, Hermione!" He added in an undertone: "Especially since said _items_ will be _forgotten_."

"This is truly amazing," she murmured. "It's like email in the Muggle world, but without an internet connection. Amazing." She turned back to the twins, who continued to grin. "What else?"

"Much, much more, dearest Hermione. If one of the attuned parties touches the parchment and there is a message in wait, it'll be warm. Room temperature if there's nothing." Fred smirked. "No one else will be able to see the changes in colour, or feel the changes in temperature. What they see will be a copy of whatever official document they think important enough to return to you."

"Blimey," Ron muttered, still staring at the parchment. "Let's try it out!"

They spent the next half hour before breakfast experimenting with the twinned parchments, and Hermione discovered that the twins had truly outdone themselves. She had asked them to develop a simple back-and-forth system, but not only could she communicate with the boys in real time, she could also send them urgent messages that would cause the parchment to flash red. She could use either her wand or a quill and ink to write out messages, which meant that she didn't even have to touch the parchment to use it, and could therefore do so subtly in the presence of others. Best of all, the paper would refuse to reveal its contents for anyone but herself, Ron, or Harry.

After breakfast, the twins gave the parchments to Bill, requesting that he use his curse-breaking skills to crack them. Bill returned the parchments late in the evening, half frustrated, half admiring, but none the wiser to the messages they held.

Hermione was satisfied that she could communicate with Ron and Harry, and she did her best not to think of what might happen if someone breached _her_ defenses. She felt weak compared to the clever twinned parchments, but Harry was the one who helped her there. After the heated encounter with Scrimgeour on his birthday, he cornered Hermione specifically to tell her that her Occlumency skills were first rate.

"What?" she said, surprised. "But you could tell exactly what I was doing the other day. I'd almost given it up as a bad job."

"Yeah, it was obvious what you were doing because you never _stopped_ doing it. When Scrimgeour was questioning us, you kept going back and forth, and at one point I stopped being able to tell when you were or weren't Occluding. Hermione, it was brilliant."

"Ok. Ok, that's good," she said, feeling a little breathless. "I'm not sure how much further to push it, but – "

"I think the key is doing it only when you really need to," he said.

She nodded, thinking about Snape. _He_ seemed to Occlude all the time, but she now suspected that most of his façade was created by sheer force of personality, rather than the magic behind Occlumency.

"Here, by the way," she said, handing Harry the beaded bag, which she'd wrapped in festive paper that morning. "Happy birthday."

He handed her the Marauder's Map in exchange, and Hermione tucked it away carefully into a pocket. Harry unwrapped his gift and looked at her, raising his eyebrows. Hermione fought and failed to keep the grin off her face.  
"Open it, you dolt."

"Nice to be treated sweetly on my birthday," Harry muttered good-naturedly, opening the purple beaded handbag. He gasped, the bag rocked, and some of its many, many contents tipped over with a resounding _crash_.

"Hermione! What did you _do_?"

He was returning her grin now.

"Undetectable extension charm," she said, shrugging modestly. "I wish I'd made something a little less conspicuous for you to carry around, but I'd already worked on it before…"

She cut herself off, realising that she'd almost said, _before Snape took my parents_. Harry gave her a quick, hard hug.

"Before," he agreed, looking suddenly fierce. "We _will_ get them back. I promise you." He patted her arm consolingly, and then shook the beaded bag slightly to listen to its contents shift about again. "Thank you, 'Mione. You'll have to give me a list or something of everything in here."

"There's already one in there. Just use a Summoning Charm. I think I've covered everything, but make sure you keep the bag on you from now on, Harry. I don't know when you and Ron will need to get going, but you should be prepared."

He nodded his agreement before running off to show Ron. Hermione sighed. The parchments were done, Harry's bag was packed and in his possession, she had the Map, and even Dumbledore's mysterious gifts to them were secured… except for the sword of Gryffindor, of course. Now they just had to wait.

* * *

It was chaos. The beautiful wedding had broken suddenly and violently, and Hermione had just enough time to give Harry and Ron a quick but assertive nod goodbye before they Disapparated together. She didn't know where they planned on going, and she hoped fervently that they would be safe. She whirled, trying to get her bearings, when a strong hand seized her arm.

"Well, if it isn't the _former_ _Mudblood_ ," a dreadfully familiar, drawling voice said in her ear. "I think someone of your _status_ should have a personal escort to the Ministry."

Before Hermione could do anything, before she could draw her wand or see what had become of the Weasleys or the Order, she was enduring Side-Along Apparition with Lucius Malfoy. She was horribly disorientated upon arriving at their destination, but she was aware both of the moment when Malfoy disarmed her, and of the precise location of the marble floor she knelt upon.

"Ah, Lucius," said a sweet voice from somewhere behind her. "What have you managed to find?"

"A so-called _former_ Mudblood, and a current accomplice of Undesirable No. 1," the unctuous voice answered.

Hermione felt hard fingers pinching her chin, and her face was forced upwards from the floor of the Ministry of Magic so that she beheld the waxy, smiling visage of Dolores Umbridge.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Poor Hermione. This is not an easy situation for her. But our (anti)hero does indeed have a plan. Many, in fact...

* * *

Chapter 3

She was floating. Floating and falling, and yet still chained up. Everything hurt, inside and outside, and she felt lost, and yet she was certain she knew where she was.

There were three of them. That much she _knew_ , and kept holding onto, a strange magic number that somehow reflected this grim reality of hers. _Yes, stay here. Stay here._ She consulted her Mind's Eye, which was flickering and faltering, barely in place. _No, no please_. Before she could stop it, she heard the voice. Lucius Malfoy's voice, this time in front of her and in a hall of flickering light and darkness. She saw Dolohov and, over and over, felt the purple fire slicing through her chest. She gasped and screamed. Her chest blistered and then seemed to explode.

"No! No, please!"

The only answer was a rattling, sucking breath, somewhere to her left.

Hermione came to herself enough to check again, for the hundredth – the thousandth? – time that the bars were still there, still in place, still separating her from the _things_ on the other side. Checking the bars meant she had to see them. Their faceless heads were turned toward her, hoods black as night, their scabbed and rotting hands wrapped around the bars of her prison. They strained forward, stretching as much as they could, and she was gone again.

* * *

Someone was moving her. Hands on each arm. _They_ were still there, somewhere; she could feel them feeding off her. The hands on her arms were cold, clammy. She realized what was really happening, tried to scream… and faded again.

* * *

"What _precisely_ is the meaning of this, Dolores?" A cold, furious voice spoke from beside her. She was sitting – sprawling – on something cold and stony, with freezing chains that wrapped across her chest, constricting, choking the life from her. The room was dim – was there ever any light around _them_? – and she could just make out people above and around her, and a mass of black at her side. It shifted and a face came into view, blurry and strange. She recoiled quickly, although her mind recognized him slowly. Snape peered into her eyes, frowned, and stood back up and away from her.

He spoke again, and there was a reply, something simpering and sharp, and Hermione felt her mouth fill with bile. And then – _oh!_ – the deeper darkness at her other side retreated.

Hermione felt her mind clear slightly, gradually. She blinked, and blinked again.

"As I said, you will release Miss Granger into my custody immediately, Dolores, or you will face my superior and account for this _personally_."

"You'll find, Severus, that my _own_ superior has bestowed upon me the authority to deal with this Mudblood," Umbridge answered, her voice as sweet as maggoty sugar. "She, like the rest of them, is standing trial for – "

"The evidence for her status as a Half-blood has already been confirmed by the documents I have presented to the Wizengamot," Snape overrode her, quick and clipped, "and that evidence has been _published_ , Dolores. Miss Granger's innocence is a matter of public record. Once it gets out that you have kept Hogwarts's newest Head Girl imprisoned by three Dementors for the better part of three days you will be hard-pressed indeed to keep any of your _authority_." His voice lowered slightly, and Hermione tried to suppress a shiver at his tone. "Indeed, I might seek out personal satisfaction against you in this matter, Dolores."

The toad-like countenance blanched, and Umbridge attempted to cover her distress with a tittering laugh. Hermione shuddered against the chains binding her arms and chest.

"Very well, then, Severus," Umbridge said. "Take the girl. There was no need to be quite so dramatic." She laughed again, looking at the people around her for encouragement, and fell abruptly silent when none came.

Snape was already approaching Hermione. She flinched when he drew his wand to disengage her bindings, and again when he took her by the elbow and helped her to her feet, not ungently. Without a word, he swept her from the large chamber, and Hermione struggled to keep pace with him up the shadowy corridor towards the lift. The three Dementors were out here, and Hermione instinctively shrank away from them, towards Snape, who encircled her waist with his arm, supporting her as she stumbled down the hallway. She tried to get away from him as she realized how closely he held her.

"Easy now," he said, voice pitched low, almost a whisper. He still spoke in the same clipped tone he had used in the courtroom, but his body gave off warmth that she hadn't felt in almost three days, and she allowed him to escort her into the lift.

Once the doors closed and the thing began its jangling, haphazard assent away from the Dementors, Hermione started to come back to herself slowly, one piece at a time. Her Mind's Eye interface was reappearing, and she engaged it carefully, slipping into that objective headspace. She was exhausted. She had not slept for three days, nor had she eaten. She also registered that she was in some state of shock after the continual attack of the Dementors, and that there were gaping holes where towards the back of her Mind's Eye. What was missing? She dismissed that frightening question, and paid attention to her immediate surroundings instead.

The man beside her continued to hold her up, and she tried to stand on her own.

"Let me…" she tried to speak clearly, but her voice was nothing, less than a whisper. She tried again. "Go. Let me…"

"Hush," the dark man said, peering into her face as he had done in the courtroom. This close, Hermione could see the taut lines around his mouth, the gauntness beneath his cheekbones, and the cold-burning fury in his black eyes. She looked away, but not before she saw something like curiosity light those eyes. She dismissed it, and him, and concentrated on trying to stand on her own instead as the lift made its horribly unstraightforward way to the Atrium.

"No," she muttered as Snape towed her out of the lift and toward one of the nearby fireplaces. "Let… go…"

Snape turned her so that she had to face him. The fury of before had been replaced by cool impatience, and he used his height to tower over her.

"You are coming with me. We are going by floo to Hogwarts, where I will see to you. You are considerably impaired, and without prompt attention your injuries may become permanent. I will then return you to the Burrow. You will follow my instructions. You will _not_ protest any further."

She shrank back from him – she couldn't help it. He had featured prominently in the cycle of horrific visions she'd suffered the previous three days, and whatever weak fight she'd mustered up quickly fizzled away. He stared down at her for another moment, before turning away. He threw some green powder into the closest fireplace, and moved her bodily into the bright flames that erupted. There, he seemed to hesitate for a moment before wrapping his arms around her, one at her waist, one around her shoulders, holding Hermione close enough that she could smell the scent of herbal smoke that clung to his black robes. She brought her arms up to push him away, but he was already saying, "Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office."

And they were spinning. Hermione's knees gave way, and she clung to Snape without realizing it. He was warm, warmer than the fire, and his arms around her felt like an anchor to the world. The green flames licked at her pleasantly, and her head fell forward to rest on his clavicle. She started to drift in the spinning, wondrous flames, warm at last and almost content.

It was over as suddenly as it had begun: Snape had hold of her arm once more, and was walking her firmly out of the fireplace and into Dumbledore's – no, _his_ – office at Hogwarts. He let go of her for the first time since they'd left the courtroom, and she stumbled and almost fell into a chair that was suddenly transfigured into a plush sofa.

"Lie down, Miss Granger," Snape said, turning abruptly and disappearing into the recesses of the circular room.

She did as instructed, looking through heavy-lidded eyes at the office once occupied by the man now depicted in the painting behind the desk. Albus Dumbledore's portrait, like the rest of the portraits in the office, appeared to be asleep. The place was the same as the few times Hermione had been here before. She registered her surprise, somewhere within the numbing apathy settling over her. She would have thought he'd have his collection of nasty things in jars and horrific paintings set up without ado upon claiming the Headmaster's position, or that he'd at least remove Dumbledore's portrait.

A movement at her side, Snape came back into view.

" _There_ you are," a weak voice spoke. "I'd hoped you'd gotten lost." Hermione clamped her mouth shut, realising that it was she herself who had spoken to the dark man standing before her.

"Indeed," he answered, raising an eyebrow. He held several vials of potion, and he quickly transfigured another chair into a low stool and sat down before her. "How do you feel, Miss Granger?"

"Like I'm full of holes," she said, unable to stop herself. "Like I used to be full, and now everything is just pouring out through those holes."

Snape was staring at her, his face quite blank, but as she watched his eyes darted over her. _He actually looks concerned_ , she thought, _kind of. Who the hell could tell?_ And then she laughed, long and bitter and slow. It sounded slightly insane.

"Are you seeing to me by looking at me?" she asked. The bright candlelight in the office seemed to be fading. "Considerable impairment and all…" she trailed off, looking at him, searching his face as he searched hers. It was the only thing she could see in the darkening room, and she was tempted to reach out and touch his cheek, to anchor herself to him now as she'd done in the fire.

"Yes, Miss Granger. As I said, I will see to you." She had never heard him speak to anyone so softly.

His manner changed abruptly, and he was Professor Snape once more.

"This is a potion to counter the effects of the Dementors. It is a concentrated dose based on your extreme level of exposure over the last three days. It will be unpleasant, but effective."

He held out one of the vials. Hermione took it from him and downed it in one. She couldn't help coughing – it burned her throat, strong and bitter, and with a horrible burnt-chocolate aftertaste. He handed her a glass of water, and then another vial.

"This is a dose of Pepper-Up – "

"Yeah, yeah," Hermione muttered. She grabbed the potion from him and downed it as well. She felt steam start to pour from her ears. "Just… give me the rest. If you're going to poison me… I don't care. Just – "

She cut herself off by taking the remaining three potions as quickly as she could, one after another like shots. The flavours mixed into a disgusting magical cocktail in her mouth. She recognized the sickly sweet flavour of Dreamless Sleep in the last potion, and immediately looked forward to its effects. The strange emptiness inside kept gnawing at her, but the pain of it was passing.

"As charming as always, Granger."

She was fading fast, closing her eyes to block out his face, and she would not soon remember reaching out and placing her hand on his cheek, just as she'd imagined doing.

* * *

"She'll sleep the night right through, that's for certain."

"Yes, but will _he_? I don't think he'll dose himself into a stupor with the girl sleeping out here."

The voices were distant, as though she heard them through a tunnel.

"He hardly sleeps anymore, you know. I'll bet he's pacing around his rooms now, seething."

"Go and check on him, Phineas, there's a lad."

Hermione was still drowsy, that was certain, but now she felt the uncomfortable angle of her legs on the sofa, and that the hand under her head was going numb.

"Absolutely not. If I go to him now, he'll blast me right back to Grimmauld and I'll be stuck listening to my great-granddaughter shrieking herself hoarse for the rest of the night. _Thank_ you, but no."

She knew that voice, she was certain.

"He's bad off isn't he? At least as bad off as she is."

" _He's_ not spent the last three days surrounded by Dementors."

"He is worried about her, though, isn't he?"

"Yes. I was surprised that he bothered to repair and freshen her robes. He's always detested the girl. I figured he'd leave her in those filthy rags all night. _And_ he gave her back her wand."

She tried to perk up her interest upon hearing that, but she felt herself sliding backwards again, toward sleep.

"Indeed. And _I_ am worried about her. And about him. What exactly has he done that she is come here?"

"Albus, what say you?"

The voices rose, chattering noisily now, but Hermione heard none of it as she slipped back into a sleep void of dreams.

* * *

Voices again. She sighed and turned onto her back, bringing a forearm up to cover her eyes.

"Miss Granger."

"Ugh," she answered. "Go away."

She was on the edge of something, a hill or a cliff. Ron was next to her, Harry was off to the side somewhere. He was saying _something_ –

"Do stop that infernal muttering, Miss Granger, and get _up_."

And she was awake. Sudden and swift, sitting up and staring at the man standing over her, a frown deepening the lines of his face. She got up. She felt springy, almost _giddy_ , and the contrast to the previous days was so sharp that she stumbled forward. He caught her with one hand on her shoulder.

"Sorry, sir," she said, stepping back and scrubbing at her face with one hand. "I'm up."

He glared at her a moment longer before turning away and striding toward the fireplace. She watched his back, wondering when he would speak to her, if he would enquire about her health this morning. She was hungrier than she could ever remember being, and she had so much energy that she was tempted to take a quick sprint around the room. As she watched, his shoulder blades rose slightly, and she thought of the hackles rising on the back of dog's neck, before he swung back around and caught her eye.

"Do come along, Miss Granger," he said abruptly. "I do not wish to spend any more time in your company than I already have. If you are quite through gawping at me, I shall return you to the Burrow."

Hermione felt herself fidgeting, and she looked away from Snape. She had questions, and even though she didn't much fancy the idea of staying anywhere near the impatient Headmaster, she wanted answers.

"I – I feel different this morning," she said. "What was in that first potion you gave me last night?"

"It was a concentrated distillation of the magical properties of cacao. The aftereffects include moderate hyperactivity followed by fatigue." He stood by the fireplace, his profile to her now, looking down at his fingernails. "You will want to spend the day resting – do _not_ follow the urge to go running about. I suggest that you avoid using magic, as your stores will be depleted from the attacks of the last three days. I further suggest that you employ some form of meditation to counteract the long-term effects of the Dementors."

"What effects are those, sir?" she asked, noticing that her voice sounded a degree higher than usual.

He looked at her quickly.

"Those on your psyche," he said quietly. "You will feel… less. Diminished. You will, of course, regenerate in due course, but there is no potion to counteract the psychic effects of prolonged Dementor exposure."

"Are the effects permanent?" she whispered, feeling a chill radiating down her spine as she remembered the absences she'd noticed in the Mind's Eye interface the previous day.

He looked away into the fire, and she saw his shoulders rise in an infinitesimal shrug.

"I do not know, Miss Granger."

Hermione closed her eyes tightly, and made the very conscious decision to forgo Occlumency training for the next few days. She didn't want to see how extensive the damage really was; now that the giddiness was draining out of her, she could feel a difference within herself, a new emptiness.

"What do I tell the Weasleys?" she asked, changing the subject deliberately.

He glanced at her sharply.

"About _what_ , Miss Granger?"

"About… what happened to me."

"You may tell them whatever you like, as long as you do not mention our arrangement. I advise that you inform them of your new status as Head Girl so that you may position yourself within that role before September."

"Ok."

After checking that her own copy of the beaded bag was still in the pocket of her clean but thoroughly ruined dress robes, and stowing her wand up her sleeve, Hermione walked forward to stand next to Snape before the blazing fire.

"What do you do?" she asked. He sighed, and continued to stare into the fire. She went on, "When you need to… regenerate. What do you do?"

He turned to face her, and she suddenly realized how close she was standing to him: their chests almost touched, and she had to look up through the curtain of his hair to catch his dark, expressionless eyes. She thought for certain he wouldn't answer, but she kept her eyes on his, searching for something, anything, in those black depths. He had a soul in there somewhere, this man who was holding herself and her parents hostage. He'd saved her, cleaned her, cured her to the best of his ability. He could have just dropped her off at the Burrow, but he'd _seen_ to her.

"I walk, Miss Granger," he said at last, lowering his eyes. "For miles, and miles."

She nodded.

"Goodbye, sir."

He didn't answer, just turned to the fireplace and threw a handful of floo powder into the flames. He spoke her destination tersely, and stepped aside so that Hermione could climb over the grate. She felt his hand brush her elbow, steadying her, before she was spinning away.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N 1: You guys rock. So many lovely reviews, and plenty of adds and favourites on top of a great hit count - you all sure know how to spoil a writer. Thank you, especially to the guest reviewers, whom I can't PM to thank personally.  
A/N 2: This is a short chapter. Our heroine needs some time to breathe - and plan - before she can join our (anti)hero at Hogwarts. The next update will be extra hefty to make up for the lightness of this one.

Chapter 4

"You ok, Hermione?"

"Yeah, Gin, I'm fine."

"You keep going off on your own. Mum's been worrying about you." Her friend nudged her elbow gently. "I have, too. Where do you go?"

"I walk," Hermione answered simply.

"Mum doesn't want you to anymore, you know. She says you'll be captured."

"I already _was_ captured. They don't want me anymore, believe me."

" _Are_ you ok, 'Mione?"

Hermione felt herself shrugging.

"I miss my parents, and Harry and Ron," she answered after a long moment.

"Have you heard from them?"

"From my parents? Yes, almost daily."

Silence. Ginny got up from the bed Hermione had kept in her room by silent mutual agreement. It had been weeks since she'd come out of the fire in the kitchen, and Hermione still wasn't used to being here again. Everything was different in the Burrow, despite the same furnishings, arrangements, and people. Everything had changed.

"Should we go over it again?" Ginny asked as she stacked her new school books neatly next to her trunk.

"Absolutely," Hermione answered.

"Ok," Ginny said, suddenly businesslike. "My first move is to round up Neville, Luna, Parvati, Lavender, Susan, and Michael." She snorted before continuing haughtily, "Not that I want to see that toe-rag again anytime soon, but I'll rise above my disgust and get him to come with us into a compartment."

Hermione nodded, and did her best to smile. Ginny looked at her for a moment too long before continuing smoothly.

"Luna will see to the younger Ravenclaws, while Michael looks after the older ones. Susan will re-recruit Ernie after he's done with the other prefects, and they'll split Hufflepuff the same way. Neville will be in charge of the first, second and third year Gryffindors, and I'll be in charge of the rest. Lavender and Parvati will run interference. We will tell no one. We will recruit no one else. But we will watch over everyone. We will meet in the Room of Requirement that night after the feast at nine o'clock."

"Perfect," Hermione said. "In the meantime, I will be meeting with the Head Boy – "

"Head Bastard," Ginny interrupted.

"Ginny," Hermione reprimanded through a suppressed smile. "I'll be meeting with Malfoy and the prefects. I will toe the line and say nothing inflammatory in either direction. I will stress that calm should be kept, and that no one should be persecuted on the train. I will split the prefects to patrol the Express, but I will ensure that any former members of the DA are paired up with Malfoy's people – "

"We'll call them the DEs," Ginny interrupted again. "Short for –"

"Death Eaters, yes, I get it," Hermione said, smiling for real this time. Ginny smiled back, but was soon uncharacteristically serious.

"You're worried, aren't you?" she asked.

"Yes. But we'll do fine," Hermione said firmly. "You, Neville, Luna, Parvati, Lavender, Ernie, Susan, Michael and I will discuss the DA's next moves in the Room of Requirement. We will stress the need for secrecy above all, and we will organize slow but steady recruitment starting with previous members and working our way outwards from there."

Ginny huffed an irritated breath, and Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"Come _on_ , 'Mione," she said, pleadingly, "we can at least put some stuff up –"

" _No_." Hermione was the one to cut her friend off this time. "No. We are not going to graffiti the halls. We're not putting up recruitment posters. We're not revealing ourselves in _any way_. The DA has always been about safety above anything else, and that's what it will be this year. Not insurrection – protection."

"Wanna put that on a button?" Ginny muttered mutinously.

"No, as that would fall under the revealing ourselves category."

Ginny stuck her tongue out, and Hermione smiled grimly.

"Anything else?" Ginny asked, starting to fold the school robes piled at the foot of her bed.

"Yes. We'll want to subtly advise everyone to walk in groups, and to not break curfew. We don't want to give Professor Snape's people _anything_ to hit us with."

"That asshat," Ginny said, suddenly fierce. "I'd give anything to hit him with a –"

" _Professor Snape_ ," Hermione said firmly, enunciating every syllable, "is not an asshat, nor a greasy bat, nor a bastard. He is our Headmaster."

"But –"

" _No,_ " Hermione said. "No. He is our superior at Hogwarts and we will show him respect." She grinned at Ginny's scowl, and patted the younger girl on the shoulder. "And we will undermine, frustrate, and generally fuck with him in every way we can manage. Only _subtly_."

Ginny grinned back.

* * *

Hermione checked over her things once more before settling down in front of her twinned parchment. It had gone from white to black right on schedule, and so she tapped it with her wand and waited.

"Terrier and stag reporting for duty," scrawled the words across the parchment before disappearing.

"Otter ready and waiting," Hermione wrote back, completing her half of the code. It indicated that she was ready to correspond in real time, and that she was on her own. "How are you boys?"

"We're fine, but we miss you like crazy." The writing had changed from Harry's untidy scrawl to Ron's wide, loopy hand. "It's dull as tombs without you around, you know."

"Same here," she wrote back, smiling.

They exchanged a few more pleasantries before she decided to get down to business. Ginny was still downstairs at the dinner table, and Hermione was sure she'd be heading up to their room any time now. She wrote hastily.

"Not much time on my end, so I'll jump right into it. I updated the Order on my plans for Hogwarts last night. They were amenable, after they finally gave up asking questions. Hagrid and McGonagall are on board, and they'll work on the rest of the staff. How was the Ministry today?"

"Good on McGonagall," Ron wrote back. "Knew she'd jump right on."

Harry took over: "Ministry was boring, as usual, but I think I've really nailed down the timing of the loos in the morning. It'll be tight, but we should be able to get Ron and me Polyjuiced quick enough. I think I'll stick with your idea of improvising my 'victim.'"

"That's good," Hermione answered, running quickly over their plan to infiltrate the Ministry once more. She and the boys had been developing it for most of August, and she felt her stomach do somersaults at the thought of them finally putting it into action. "When do you think you'll go in?"

"Tomorrow," Harry wrote promptly.

Hermione grimaced and shook her head.

"No, Harry. The Hogwarts Express leaves tomorrow and everyone at the Ministry will be on high alert for stunts of any kind."

"Come on," he scrawled back. "We've got to get a move on."

"Just wait an extra day, Harry. Ron agrees with me, I'm sure."

She smiled as she pictured Harry's green eyes flashing in indignation. Sure enough, the next hand that wrote was Ron's.

"He's stormed off, but I think it's because he knows you're right."

"Good. Be careful, Ron. Don't let him do anything rash. Stick to the plan, ok?"

"I know. You too, though. You're going right into the lion's den tomorrow."

"The snake pit, you mean?"

"Ha. Just be careful."

"You too. Don't forget to pack the beaded bag and bring it with you. All of the original supplies. And _don't_ forget that the portrait of Phineas Nigellus is in there – make sure you never say anything important while the bag is open."

"I know, I know."

"I'm not sure when I'll be able to talk again from Hogwarts. I'll want to get a feel for the new regime before risking it."

"Right, just watch your back, Hermione, like we would."

Hermione swiped at the tears running down her cheeks as she heard movement on the stairs outside the room.

"Got to go. Love you both. Xoxo."

* * *

That night, after Ginny's breathing had evened out, Hermione sat upright in bed. She called up her Mind's Eye and was pleased when the interface appeared immediately, fully-formed and ready to go. In the past month, it had grown both in size and complexity, and Hermione smiled inwardly as she examined the neatly-stored emotions, the files of memories, the containers of lies, and the sharp blade for Intercision. The latter always made her shiver, and so she pushed it away, towards the back and out of sight, where it glimmered faintly. She carefully called up her memory of the evening's written conversation with the boys and filtered her emotions out. She distilled the most sensitive information – the infiltration of the Ministry, and the Horcrux they hoped to retrieve therein – and packaged it neatly in an iron box and put it at the far end of the storage room, back near the blade.

Throughout the month of August that back area had grown from a small trunk-sized space to a large, dim storage closet and Hermione tried not to think of the ramifications of cutting off such a large part of her mind, should such a thing become necessary. She quickly placed the anxiety, fear, and disgust into their separate compartments, and came forward into the well-lit, more cheerful area, and looked at the damage her sojourn with the Dementors had left. It took the form of gaps, not in memories nor in emotions, but in the surroundings, in the infrastructure of the Mind's Eye itself. Despite her immersive study of Escutcheon – she must have read the man's book at least a dozen times by now – she could not distinguish the parts of her interface that held her soul. She'd tried, of course, to _construct_ such an infrastructure, but such things didn't come easily to certain witches and wizards, as Escutcheon pointed out. Apparently she was one of those who would have to find the soul in the details, slowly but surely, and hope to Merlin that she didn't have to Intercise anything before she figured it out.

Hermione sighed and let her Mind's Eye disintegrate slowly. She took her full dose of Veritaserum and was pleased when she felt no pull to tell any kind of truth. The last thing she saw before she fell asleep was an image of Professor Snape, looking into her eyes as green flames enveloped them both.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: To paraphrase my favourite cracked arcanist, your reviews are like a flower in my heart. Now enjoy some simultaneous plotting and plot thickening :)

Chapter 5

Hermione presided over the prefects' carriage with Draco Malfoy at her side. Everything seemed much the same, save for the obvious absence of her fellow Muggle-borns. Malfoy had attempted to hold court over the compartment, but Hermione had quickly put a stop to his posturing with a few well-chosen words.

"Fine then, illegitimate-bitch-formerly-known-as-Mudblood. _You_ take over," he'd spat.

And Hermione had done nothing but smile and take the reins. She'd split the patrolling pairs along house lines so that no two Slytherins were paired up, and she'd highlighted the importance of safety throughout the school year. She had also emphasized the fact that her door would always be open to any – _any_ – prefect who wanted to talk. Malfoy had sneered openly at her and gone off on his own, and Hermione herself had spent the rest of the trip patrolling with a sulky and abrasive Pansy Parkinson.

When the Hogwarts Express finally arrived at the Hogsmeade Station, Hermione gratefully climbed into the thestral-drawn carriage to sit next to Neville.

"Chocolate frog, 'Mione?" he asked her consolingly.

"Yes, please." She looked at her companions. "How did everything go?"

"Swimmingly," Ginny said simply.

"It's very strange this year," Luna said, looking out the carriage window into the darkness.

Hermione sighed.

"Yes. It's going to be even stranger at the castle, I expect."

"That's not what I meant," Luna answered, turning to look at Hermione with her disconcerting eyes. "I meant that this is strange." She gestured between herself, Neville, and Ginny. "You're one man short, and two girls flush. Why aren't you with Harry and Ron?"

Hermione looked away quickly, and caught Ginny's eye instead. The redhead held her gaze aggressively; she'd asked Hermione the question half a hundred times at least, never satisfied with the answer everyone else had been given, that it had just been the right thing to do. Hermione brought up her Mind's Eye, and decided to simply change the subject.

"Is everyone on board for the meeting tonight?"

Ginny just nodded, but Neville launched into an account of how their mission had gone, and Hermione nodded along, checking off items on her mental list. It was going well. She would have to re-emphasize the need for discretion at the meeting later that evening, but it was going well so far.

The mood in the Great Hall was subdued and tense as Hermione helped Professor McGonagall shepherd the little first years into a long line to await the Sorting. She smiled reassuringly at the nervous-looking children before she glanced up at the High Table – and directly into the new Headmaster's eyes. He sat stiffly in the ornate chair, and although his face was carefully blank, he acknowledged Hermione with a slight nod of his head. She felt herself blush and hastened to pull up her Mind's Eye as the Sorting Hat broke into song. It went on longer than usual, extolling each house's strengths quickly before moving on to a lengthy entreaty to band together in these dark times. Hermione had to almost physically restrain herself from glancing back up at Snape, and so she looked instead to the two new members of the staff. With a jolt to her stomach, she immediately recognized the Carrow siblings from that horrible night at the end of the previous school year. She managed to pay close attention to the rest of the Sorting only by promising herself fervently that she would tell Harry and Ron about this soon, and that she and the DA would take steps immediately in light of the fact that there were _three_ Death Eaters amongst the staff this year.

The Sorting was shorter than usual as any Muggle-borns who might have attended had not received their letters from Hogwarts, and the feast began shortly after the ceremony. Hermione joined the suspiciously quiet Gryffindor table. Everyone seemed to be waiting for her – no one had even touched any of the loaded trays and dishes before them.

"What are you waiting for?" Hermione hissed at them.

She turned to Ginny at her right and started a loud conversation about their respective school books for the term, and was pleased when the rest of the Gryffindors stopped rubbernecking like ninnies and tucked in. The rest of the school was subdued as well, however, and the usual festive air of the Start-of-Term Feast was notably absent. The merriment and jocularity were replaced by sideways glances and whispers, and when the last of the puddings disappeared from the table, everyone grew almost instantly silent.

As if on cue, Snape stood up.

"Welcome," he said, his deep voice carrying easily through the hushed hall. "We have two new staff members this year: Amycus Carrow will be taking over my former post as Dark Arts professor, and his sister Alecto Carrow will be teaching Muggle Studies. They will also both act as Deputy Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress, respectively, and are thereby in charge of all disciplinary matters. " The Carrows both stood up and nodded at the smattering of applause. Hermione kept her hands resolutely in her lap. "As of today," Snape went on, sounding bored, "Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four is in full effect. I will hear petitions for the reinstatement of student organizations, societies, and so forth during my office hours this week." The silence in the Great Hall took on a different quality, and Hermione peered briefly around to register the looks of shock on her fellow students' faces. She turned her attention back to Snape, who had continued speaking. "Hogwarts will see profound changes this year – act accordingly."

He sat back down. The speech had been perfunctory, and had been delivered almost tonelessly. Hermione exchanged looks with Neville and Ginny, before she nodded and stood up.

"First years, follow me, please," she called loudly.

She turned to lead the way out of the Great Hall, and almost walked into Malfoy.

"What?" she demanded. "I need to get these students upstairs."

"Have the prefects do it," he snapped back. "That's what they're here for."

Hermione glared at him, but motioned for Ginny to take over. Malfoy raised his eyebrows, but didn't comment further. Instead he turned abruptly and started walking across the Entrance Hall.

"What do you want?" Hermione asked, following him closely through the throng of students.

"Professor Snape wants to see us immediately," he answered.

Hermione's stomach swooped. She knew she would have to meet with Snape; the Head Boy and Girl were always briefed by the Headmaster at the start of the school year. But she had thought he would summon her sometime during the week, not immediately after the Feast. She glanced down at her watch. 8 PM. Hopefully it wouldn't take too long.

They reached the gargoyle guarding the head's office, and for a moment Hermione was almost absurdly grateful to have Malfoy at her side.

"Black Sabbath," he said quietly, and the gargoyle jumped aside to reveal the revolving stairs.

Had her Mind's Eye not been working full-force, Hermione would have squawked in surprise at the decidedly Muggle password Snape had chosen. She filed that away for analysis later on, recalling briefly that he was, after all, a Half-blood. She stepped onto the staircase, and walked into the unsettlingly familiar office a moment later. Snape sat behind Dumbledore's desk, his hands folded before him, his face a mask of impassivity.

"Sir," Malfoy said.

Hermione said nothing.

Snape gestured, and they each took one of the chairs in front of the desk.

"I have assignments for you," Snape began, looking at them in turn. "First, you will inform the students in your respective houses that they will walk the castle and grounds in pairs. Day and night, between classes and meals, within the castle and without, they will never be unaccompanied. You, Miss Granger, will tell the Ravenclaw prefects to pass on the same message to their fellows; Mr. Malfoy, you will do the same with the Hufflepuff prefects."

"Why – "

Snape raised an elegant hand, cutting Malfoy off.

"This is a _standard_ I will expect you both to enforce."

A standard, not an official rule. Hermione caught Snape's eye, and he raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"And what about Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four?" she asked, almost bursting with curiosity. "How are we supposed to enforce that while encouraging students to band together in the halls? Or does the Decree not apply to walking the castle and grounds?"

"If you look at the Decree itself, Miss Granger, you will find that it is quite vague on that point. My requirement is that students move in pairs, no more, no less."

"Does that count for us as well?" Malfoy asked, sending a quick sneer Hermione's way.

"No." Snape leaned forward slightly, and the room seemed to darken a shade. "If you catch anyone – and I mean _anyone_ – else alone you will deduct house points and assign them detention with Professor Hagrid."

"With Hagrid?" Malfoy asked, his formal tone giving way. "But you said that the Carrows –"

"I am aware of what I said," Snape cut him off. "And I am aware of what I say now."

The two stared at one another for a long moment until Malfoy pointedly looked away.

"Second," Snape carried on smoothly, "you will both be meeting with me weekly to discuss the running of this school and other matters in detail. Mr. Malfoy, you will be here every Tuesday evening at eight o'clock. Miss Granger, eight o'clock on Fridays."

"What will we be discussing, exactly?" Hermione asked, trying not to flinch when Snape's eyes bored into her own. The dark man looked away.

"Mr. Malfoy, you are dismissed. See to it that the Slytherins are _all_ accounted for in the dormitory before you retire."

Malfoy nodded formally and, after one mildly hostile glance at Hermione, he left the two of them alone. Hermione felt herself shrinking away from the man across the desk, trying to tuck herself further back into her chair. It was instinctive, her Mind's Eye told her, but it was also what he expected – she should at least pretend to be afraid of him, even if she _was_. Snape watched Malfoy's exit and kept looking at the closed office door for several moments before turning to Hermione.

"Why?" she asked him, her voice soft but demanding.

Snape raised his eyebrows, and she looked away quickly before continuing.

"Why do you want me here?"

"You know why, Miss Granger."

"No, actually," she said, speaking to her interlaced fingers. She thought back to that night at her parents' house. "You mentioned politics, but I don't think that quite covers the full extent of what you expect of me."

He was silent, and Hermione checked that her Mind's Eye was operational before looking at him again. He sat forward in his chair, the curtains of his black hair framing his face, his eyes intent on hers, as though she was the only person in the world. She raised her chin in challenge.

"Tell me what you're going to make me do on Fridays."

"I will _make_ you do nothing more than was promised."

"And where will you take me?" she demanded, letting her anger creep out, an inverted echo his open impassivity. "When will you take me to _him_?"

"I assure you, Miss Granger, our meetings will take place here. No one else will attend us."

"Damn you," she said under her breath, unable to look away from him now. He'd sounded sincere – was he really _not_ going to take her to Voldemort? They stared at one another for several moments, until Hermione looked away. "I know there is more to it," she bit out.

"If you are quite done babbling, I have a question of my own to address to _you_."

Her anger bled away, and Hermione marvelled at the fact that her Mind's Eye, intact almost all summer long, was hardly helpful after just a few minutes alone with this infuriating man. She would have to redouble her efforts.

"Yes?" she asked.

"How are you?"

She felt her jaw drop.

" _What_?"

He rolled his eyes, the expression of long-suffering impatience appearing and disappearing so quickly on his face that she might have imagined it.

"How. Are. You?" he repeated, slowly and deliberately as though she were thick.

"Fine," she answered automatically. "I'm fine, thanks."

"I do not ask in the context of social _nicety_ , Granger. I ask in the context of the prolonged Dementor attack you suffered earlier in the summer."

"Oh." His eyes were sweeping over her face, and she felt herself begin to blush. "I'm – I think I'm ok, sir."

"What have you been doing to remedy the aftereffects?" he demanded, his voice clinical.

"I followed your advice, sir." He raised his eyebrows questioningly. And so she repeated what he'd told her: "I walk."

"Indeed. We will discuss this further on Friday," he said after a moment, and Hermione felt her stomach jump again at the thought of spending more time alone with him. "Now, I imagine you have somewhere to be."

Hermione's heart almost stopped – _how could he know… but no, he just means the Gryffindor Common Room_ – but she met his eyes deliberately, forcing herself to assume a neutral expression mirroring his, and she nodded. He glanced away and bent his head to return to his writing. She left without another word.

* * *

The door to the Room of Requirement was invisible; Hermione was able to step into it only after Neville swung open a section of the wall.

"Huh…" she said, turning around admiringly, "how did you manage that?"

"Neville did it," Luna said, her protuberant eyes focused on the blushing young man. "He asked the Room for all the right things, and he closed all the loopholes."

Hermione felt her eyebrows try to rise in disbelief, and quickly quashed the emotion.

"Excellent," she said, turning around to see the rest of the DA. "I'm glad to see you all."

"We're glad to be here," Michael Corner said immediately, as if he'd been waiting to speak to her. "Someone's got to keep this school running."

Ginny huffed a little and rolled her eyes.

"Right," Hermione said, fishing a piece of parchment out of her beaded bag. "First things first: I would like everyone interested in re-admittance to the DA to sign this form."

The eight students exchanged uneasy looks.

"Is it cursed like the other one was?" Lavender asked softly. "I for one would just like to know before I sign it."

"Yes," Hermione answered simply. She had learned from her mistake last time; instead of branding a traitor 'sneak' with lines of blemishes, the curse would cause a debilitating ringing in their ears, which would be echoed as an alarm sounding throughout the castle. That way, they would all know if – or when – it happened.

"Ahem," Ernie cleared his throat significantly. "And shall we erupt in boils – "

"Not if you don't snitch," Ginny interrupted him scathingly.

"Ok, then," Neville quipped and, stepping forward briskly, he signed his name beneath Hermione's with a flourish.

The rest signed without comment, except for a wink on Ginny's part, and Hermione felt relief course through her as she tacked the parchment to the wall of the Room. Her team was now assembled.

"How was the greasy bat?" Ginny asked conversationally as Hermione turned back to them.

" _Professor Snape_ ," Hermione asserted sharply, "has set an unofficial rule that matches our own goals. He wants us all moving in pairs as much as possible, but we are not to assemble in groups of three or more students, as he mentioned in his speech. I think the DA should take his idea to the next level."

"Which is?" prompted Parvati.

"We will set up a buddy system to actually coordinate the pairs that circulate around the castle. We'll make it so that each pair of students includes someone stronger and someone a little... less strong. And we further match up pairs of older students who look out for other younger pairs in passing."

"That sounds unbelievably complicated," Ginny stated.

"It's not," Hermione answered promptly. "It's just a matter of coordinating. Eventually, I'm hoping that everyone will develop constant vigilance as a habit, but this will make certain students expressly responsible for certain others."

"So, who should we try to recruit first?" Michael asked.

Hermione nodded to Ginny, who took over the meeting from there, setting out the assignments she and Hermione had devised toward the end of the summer. Between the nine of them, they would recruit all of the former members of the DA within the first week of classes. Hermione was glad when Ginny expressed the importance of keeping the organisation's activities subtle, and when the others nodded along earnestly.

"And how will we be coordinating this year?" Ernie asked, blustering a little. "I don't like the idea of those galleons again, to be honest."

"You're right," Hermione answered with a wide smile. "The galleons are very fifth year. Your question brings me to the other important bit of information: every person who signs that form – " she gestured to the parchment on the wall and saw Ernie blanch before she continued, "will be able to see the DA's schedule at the top right of their class schedule."

Hermione surveyed their astonished faces with pleasure.

Ginny rolled her eyes before saying, "What Hermione is getting at is that she has managed to get each Head of House onboard. McGonagall transfigured the schedules, and Sprout, Flitwick, and Slughorn know exactly what they'll be distributing. As a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and our unofficial faculty supervisor, McGonagall will also be updated as to our meeting times."

The two Gryffindor girls exchanged smug looks before turning back to their co-conspirators to accept their praise.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N 1: Apologies that this is a touch later than usual - real life caught up to me a bit this week. Thank you all so much for your lovely reviews!  
A/N 2: Fair warning - this chapter is where things start to get a little darker.

Chapter 6

The seventh year Gryffindors and Slytherins assembled outside of the Dark Arts classroom. The number of Gryffindors had been reduced because no other Muggle-borns were present, but it was still a touch odd to see that every single one of them was attending this class, despite some who had, to Hermione's certain knowledge, _not_ passed their Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL. She saw Crabbe and Goyle nudging each other and casting sidelong glances her way. She rolled her eyes before she caught Malfoy looking at her intently, but he turned away from her quickly to talk to Pansy Parkinson.

The door creaked open suddenly, and the doughy face of Amycus Carrow appeared, scowling at the assembled students.

"Get in," he said in his slow basso voice, gesturing imperiously.

Hermione exchanged a brief look with Neville before taking a deep breath and going through the door first.

"Brave little Mudblood, isn't she?" a menacing voice whispered from the hallway.

Hermione stiffened a little but caught herself, stayed outwardly relaxed, and kept walking forward to take one of the seats at the front of the class. She looked around and shuddered slightly at the horrific images that adorned the classroom's walls – they were like the ones Snape had up when he had taken over Defense Against the Dark Arts – but worse by an order of magnitude. These depicted not only the victims of magical atrocities, but also the perpetrators, who all wore uniform expressions of perverse delight.

She fixed her eyes on her hands in her lap. Neville sat down next to her on one side, Lavender and Parvati sat across the aisle, and Seamus sat on Hermione's other side. They presented the Death Eater before them with a unified front and, despite the hisses of further insults from the Slytherins, Hermione straightened up in her seat and looked at Professor Carrow with the same open, curious, and respectful expression she had always worn in Professor Snape's classes.

"Now then," Carrow began, glaring around at them in turn. "You are here to learn the Dark Arts. Here – " he waved his wand, and a pile of papers flew from his desk at the front of the room, separated with a great rustling, before one floated down before each student – "is the plan for the year. Any book you's need you can find in the library. The Restricted Section is open for all now."

Hermione's hand was in the air before she could help herself. Carrow's eyes alighted on her.

"Yes, the little girl right up front," he said, smiling at her in a way that twisted her stomach with revulsion.

"Please sir," Hermione said loudly but politely, "I'm not sure I understand the lack of textbooks in this class – will you direct us to the appropriate texts in the library, or will we be expected to find them on an ad hoc basis?"

The man's small eyes narrowed, and he stumped over to Hermione's desk and leaned over to stare her in the face.

"You'll know what books you need when I tell you what books you need," he growled, and Hermione shrank away as his putrid breath washed over her.

He moved on and continued talking, going over the course aims in a stumbling, roundabout way that Hermione soon blocked out. Instead, she studied the parchment before her and had to suppress a gasp. Their first month of classes would be an introduction to cutting curses, followed by severe hexes, and then irreversible magical damage. After the Christmas break, they would move on to Fiendfyre, cursed objects, and death magic. Individual projects on the Unforgivable Curses would round out the year. Hermione felt herself almost abuzz with worry, and without thinking she shot her hand back up into the air.

"Please sir," she said without waiting to be called on this time, "I have a question with regards to the methodology of the classes covering the more dangerous material."

"What's that, then?" Carrow asked with a huff.

"How will you be teaching us such hazardous magic in a classroom setting, sir? Will we be fighting one another? Or will we be working more along the lines of simulation?"

"Ah," the professor nodded vigourously at her, a menacing smirk crossing his face. "Maybe you'd like to see my uh – _meth'dolgy_ – in action, eh?" He turned away from her and waved his hand impatiently forward. "Draco, there's a good lad. Step on up."

Hermione frowned and watched as Malfoy went up the centre aisle slowly, looking down at his feet as he walked. She looked up at Carrow when he appeared before her once more.

"Well, Mudblood-that-was?" he said loudly, throwing an arm out towards the front of the room. "Get on up here if you want your demonstration."

The stink of old sweat and soiled robes wafted down. Hermione stared up at him for a moment, and she felt Neville's foot lightly press her own under the desk. She regretted the questions now, of course, and the fear that had prickled at her since she'd entered the classroom had pooled in her chest, making her feel like she might suffocate. She ignored Neville, and went to join Malfoy at the front of the class. She turned to Carrow for instructions. He leered at her.

"On my count of three, you duel," Carrow announced, an edge of mania to his tone. "I want to see curses, hexes and jinxes. You will not stop until one of you needs the hospital wing."

Hermione, truly alarmed now, looked at where Malfoy stood directly across from her; his wand was already out, but his shoulders were stooped. He refused to look at her in return.

"One – " she heard catcalls from Crabbe and Goyle. "Two – " her wand felt like nothing but a stick in her hand, innocuous and unremarkable, held by her side. "Three!"

Malfoy raised his wand, his eyes coming to life at last. _He looks the way I feel_ , Hermione thought slowly, feeling her own hand still gripping her wand at her side. Malfoy frowned and glanced behind her, at where Professor Carrow stood.

"C'mon, Mudblood!" Carrow shouted, almost into her ear. "Wand up, or Draco'll get the jump on ya."

"No," Hermione said firmly. She turned her back to Malfoy and faced Amycus Carrow. "I won't do this. _Sir_."

His face purpled quickly, and she closed her eyes as he raised his wand. She felt heat wash over the skin of her face, and then nothing.

* * *

"I've got you, 'Mione, I've got you." The voice was Neville's, and Hermione realized that it was he who was holding up most of her weight. Pain suffused her, but she opened her eyes and looked around.

"We're almost there now," Neville continued, his voice absent-minded, his breath huffing as he attempted to drag her gently down the corridor. Hermione tried to find her feet.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice low and intense – she was trying to focus past the pain; her Mind's Eye was back up and running, and it was categorising and trying to cut off the pain coursing over her cheeks and forehead. She looked around as her head cleared, recognizing the corridor one floor below the Hospital Wing, and her eye caught on a familiar face in one of the paintings along the hallway: the clever eyes of Phineas Nigellus looked out from a painting of a tall tree. He nodded solemnly to her before disappearing.

"Carrow used a cutting curse on you," Neville answered.

Hermione looked up at her friend and gasped – Neville had a black eye and a split lip. Blood dribbled down his chin and stained the collar of his robes.

"What happened to _you_?" she asked, trying not to feel faint at the sight of his injuries. She didn't even want to picture her own.

"Carrow – er – didn't like what I said to him after he hit you with that curse." He pulled at her arm. "C'mon. We've got to get you over there. I don't know how you're not passed out, Hermione, you're still bleeding pretty bad."

Hermione concentrated on walking quickly towards the Hospital Wing, making the conscious decision not to look in the mirror overhanging the staircase that swung towards them. When they arrived, Madam Pomfrey exclaimed over Hermione, and after a perfunctory examination, she briskly told Neville to take seat further down the ward. She bade Hermione to sit up on one of the beds and promptly bent over her, examining the damage from various angles.

"What in the name of Merlin happened to you, dear?" she asked, siphoning some of the blood off to examine the deep cuts beneath.

"Professor Carrow punished me," Hermione said, noticing with a detached sort of horror that the cuts on her face made it difficult to move her mouth around the words. "Cutting curse."

"A _professor_ did this to you?" the matron demanded, the colour draining from her face. Hermione started to nod, but Madam Pomfrey stopped her. "Don't move your head at all, dear. I can't believe you managed to get up here without fainting. I will have strong words with Professor Snape about this, make no mistake." She cast an astringent spell on the cuts, and Hermione winced at the sudden burning sensation. "Sorry about that, dear. Now, let's heal these up, shall we?" She poked one of the cuts, muttering a spell under her breath.

"That will not work, Pomfrey," a crisp voice said from behind them.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Neville called out from where he sat further down the ward.

"That, Mr. Longbottom," Snape answered, "is none of your concern."

He stepped up next to Madam Pomfrey to look at Hermione.

"The last time I checked, _Headmaster_ , this was still _my_ Hospital Wing," Madam Pomfrey said in a poisonous tone. "I shall decide the cure for Miss Granger's injuries which, incidentally, were caused by a professor _you_ employed."

Snape turned to Pomfrey.

"I have been made aware of the situation in full, Poppy," he said smoothly. "I will administer the Vulnera Sanentur, a spell at which I _particularly_ excel, as you well know." He raised his chin in challenge, before he nodded towards Neville. "See to Mr. Longbottom, if you please, and I shall deal with Miss Granger."

The Healer's nostrils flared, but she nodded curtly and started to move down the rows of beds towards Neville. She turned back, as though unable to stop herself.

"You mark my words, Snape," she whispered in a tone Hermione had never heard from the kindly Healer. "If I have any more students turning up with injuries like this – "

"You will see to their injuries and call me when necessary," Snape cut her off, his voice low and dangerous.

Madam Pomfrey paled still further, and Hermione thought she saw the gleam of tears in the woman's eyes before she continued to walk towards where Neville sat, his eyes wide.

"Look at me," Snape said to Hermione, his voice colourless.

When she obeyed him, she saw fury lodged deep in his eyes, like when he'd collected her from the Ministry. She shrank away from him instinctively, moving back a little on the bed.

"Do not be alarmed, Miss Granger," Snape said, his voice still empty, his eyes neutralising slowly. "I simply wish to view the extent of the cuts."

He took a gentle hold of her chin and tilted her face first one way then the other. He tried to push her bushy hair out of her face, and sighed when it crowded back around her cheeks and forehead. Hermione kept watching him, her shock carefully quashed and stored, as he gathered her hair up in his hands, his long fingers moving swiftly over her temples, fluttering along her neck. He forced the mass up into a neat ponytail, which he tied off with a poke of his wand.

"This will hurt a little," he told her quietly, his eyes intent on her face once more.

And he started singing an incantation, something low and melodious, with words Hermione could not quite distinguish. His eyes were softer now, focused on the wounds she could still feel. He ended the lilting song and examined the cuts again before restarting the chant. This time, there was the slight stinging sensation as her skin began to heal, and Hermione filed the feeling away behind her Mind's Eye. She got her bearings once more before suddenly realising that something was wrong: Snape was staring at her – not just _at_ her, but _into_ her eyes – and he had stopped singing mid-chant. He kept looking at her, as if he was searching for something, his black eyes curious and sombre and reflecting the bright light cascading through the windows of the Hospital Wing. He seemed to shake himself slightly, his eyes sliding from hers, and he finished the spell before singing it again a third and final time. Hermione allowed herself a slight sigh of relief as she felt the wounds close, and she forced herself _not_ to think of what glimpses she might have just shown Snape of her Mind's Eye. Instead, she wondered what her face would look like, if the new scars would match the hideous one cutting across her chest.

" _Accio dittany_ ," Snape muttered, and caught the small bottle that flew out of Madam Pomfrey's store cupboard. He began dotting the brown liquid over her skin with his fingertips. "The scarring should be minimal," he said under his breath, and Hermione wondered if he spoke to her, or to himself.

She felt wooden, her emotions chopped off and far away, but she knew to avoid his eyes as she thanked him quite correctly after he finished applying the dittany. He didn't answer, simply wiped his fingers on a white handkerchief, handed her the little bottle, and turned away from her in a swirl of black.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N 1: This chapter contains a major deviation from canon. I usually try to stick as close to _DH_ as possible, but I'm immovable on this point. See A/N 3 for an explanation at the end of the chapter.

A/N 2: I've had a few of my lovely reviewers (and PM-ers) ask if this story will contain any Snape POV chapters/sections. The answer is no. HOWEVER, I would be open to re-writing certain (not all, mind you) chapters from our favourite Death Eater's perspective as a separate story. If you're interested in that, raise your hand, and I'll arrange something soon.

* * *

Chapter 7

It was still her face. The same lips, top too thin, bottom too thick. The same forward-pitched chin, almost obnoxious and certainly audacious. The same ski-jump nose making too fine a point. Cheekbones not high enough, forehead too high – she had to have room for that big brain, after all. All of it the same, right here before her. The same. Except the eyes. The eyes held the scars – or the nothing beneath the scars. An expanse of brown, muddy with a reddish undertone that she'd always hated, but blank as a blackboard now, reflecting absolutely nothing into the mirror, no light, no memory, just the emptiness of scars rubbed out like chalk. Hermione closed her eyes, and blocked herself out.

Her day passed this way, blocked out, as though she saw through tinted glass that distorted everything just enough to make it uncanny. Her friends looked worried; her _other_ friends, the ones a flashing parchment away, were surely worried as well, although they were too busy scrawling incoherent summaries of their fiasco at the Ministry to ask her anything beyond the usual inquiries. They had got the Horcrux off of Umbridge, they said, although it had been messy. The news should have made Hermione smile. She should have jumped for joy. She should have sent them her Patronus in an exuberant and mildly dangerous celebration. She did none of this. She added a few exclamation points to the end of her last sentence to them, made her excuses, and put the parchment away.

She felt comfortable, really. She sailed through classes easily, despite the fact that for the first time in her academic career she hadn't actually read and reread all of the textbooks. Extraordinary, that – then again, this was still only the second week of classes. She went from class to class trailed by a worried-looking Neville, whose eye was still mildly ringed in black. She ran the DA with the same efficiency she'd started. But she avoided the Great Hall the entire day, fasting instead of eating, and when she finally went to bed, she sighed with relief as she slowly watched her Mind's Eye shut her down.

* * *

"Are you sure you should go to class today, Hermione?" Lavender asked one morning.

"Yes," Hermione answered tartly. She was looking in the same mirror, this time trying to bully her hair into a ponytail. _How_ had Snape managed to do what had taken her a quarter of an hour in a just a few seconds?

"Let me help," said Lavender, coming up behind Hermione to peer at her face in the mirror. "Wow, it really does look like nothing happened."

The other girl started to tug at her hair, but Hermione pulled away.

"Leave it," she said shortly, before turning around to exit the dormitory.

She heard Lavender muttering mutinously to Parvati behind her, but did not bother to turn around. Ginny waited for her at the bottom of the stairs, and Hermione sighed when she saw her.

"Hello to you too," Ginny said primly, linking her arm with Hermione's and steering her forcefully towards the portrait hole. "How are you today?"

"I'm fine, ok?" Hermione bit out.

"Really? Because you don't seem fine," Ginny said as they both clambered through the hole and into the hallway beyond. She stood up straight, hands on hips. "You seem weird, in fact."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, feeling testy. She hadn't slept well, and her mind was still in the oddly subdued state she'd imposed on herself since being hit by the cutting curse several days before. _And_ , she reminded herself distantly, _you have to see Professor Snape this evening._ Twice now he had helped her, _seen_ to her. She shuddered inwardly; _he saved me so that he could have me for himself_. Shoving that thought quickly into a deep drawer in her Mind's Eye, she turned her attention back to Ginny and started walking with her down the hall.

"I _mean_ ," Ginny said emphatically, "that your face is as blank as sheet of parchment, but you don't have the voice to match. You sound angry, and the lack of expression makes you look _nuts_. I noticed it yesterday when I caught you in the bathroom, and then again in the Common Room. I was hoping you'd have gotten over it by this morning, but apparently _not_."

Hermione tried to walk away from Ginny, but the latter grabbed her arm, digging her fingernails into Hermione's wrist.

"Oh, and don't even _think_ of skipping breakfast this morning," the redhead snapped. "I know you didn't eat a thing all day yesterday."

Hermione marched along next to the younger girl, and she slowly felt herself start to relax, a tiny fraction at a time. Her Mind's Eye was still holding all of her emotions in a vicelike grip, save for anger, which kept escaping, serpentine and slithering through her. It was hard to do, but she forced her shoulders down from their defensive half-shrug, and she realised that she had held the posture for days now, and that her entire upper body was aching from it.

"I'm sorry, Ginny," she said, looking into the other girl's light brown eyes. "I don't know what happened. I'm just… it's been really stressful."

"That's quite alright," Ginny answered. "But I've been worried about you, 'Mione. And I know I'm not the only one who's noticed how _off_ you've been."

"I'll work on it, ok?" Hermione tried hard to smile. "Where are we with the sixth-years?"

"There's the fearless leader we know and love," Ginny said, giving Hermione a quick, bracing hug. They resumed walking together. "We're just about on schedule, and I think we should consider a meeting sometime early next week to sign up the new recruits. Most of the former DA actually approached _us_ , which made things pretty easy."

"Good," Hermione said. Many students had approached her as well, and she had firmly redirected them to Ginny, who was not in a position of authority under Snape's rule, and would therefore be slightly less conspicuous than Hermione herself.

They made their way down to the Great Hall talking of smaller things. They ignored the surreptitious looks on the faces of the other students they passed. They ignored the dark looks sent their way by many others. And they especially ignored the non-scars all over Hermione's face. They arrived just as Professor Carrow and his sister were leaving. He tossed Hermione a resentful glare, and she noticed that he leaned on his sister as he moved about stiffly. Hermione looked immediately to the High Table, searching out Snape, who was conspicuous only by his absence.

"Now _he_ looks like he could use a good slash to the face," Ginny whispered, glaring at Carrow's back.

"Hush," Hermione whispered back. "Don't let anyone hear you saying things like that."

They sat down next to each other and Hermione, suddenly ravenous, immediately tucked into a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon.

"Actually," Ginny said in a carefully modulated undertone. "I heard from Luna that Snape and Carrow _duelled_."

"What do you mean?"

"I _mean_ that Luna and the other sixth-year Ravenclaws were waiting to go into the Dark Arts classroom yesterday, and they heard all sorts of banging and swearing. By the time the rest of the year came along, Snape stormed off down the hall, and Carrow was crouched behind his desk like a half-dead kneazle. I wish I'd been there, but _I_ don't suffer from the Ravenclaw tendency of showing up twenty minutes early for class."

"Why didn't you tell me this earlier, Ginny?" Hermione hissed, feeling a wave of fury. She had asked – _demanded_ – to be kept informed by all of her DA fellows. And this was exactly the kind of thing she needed to know.

"And when would I have told you, hm? Luna only told me about it after dinner last night, and by the time I'd gotten back to the Common Room you'd disappeared."

"Right," Hermione answered, feeling slightly abashed. "I… I'll make myself more available from now on."

Ginny nodded, and Hermione continued eating, her mind racing. She acknowledged that she was surprised that Snape would have duelled one of his fellow staff members – and a fellow Death Eater as well. But what really puzzled her was that he did it _almost_ publicly, not where the whole school would see, but where a select few would be hard-pressed to miss it. The thought nagged at her until the end of breakfast.

* * *

The day passed too quickly for Hermione's liking. She made an effort to allow some of her emotions through her Mind's Eye, but it was draining to _feel_ so much all the time. During her afternoon free period, she shook herself firmly and climbed up to the deserted dormitory and retrieved the twinned parchment from her beaded bag.

"Otter reporting for duty," she wrote.

It took a few minutes for a reply to come, and Hermione shifted her attention to the parchment she'd been folding and unfolding throughout the day – a list of things to report to Snape that evening. She hoped to expedite the meeting, to cut it short if she could, and so she'd carefully listed everything she thought would be relevant to him, including details and comments on the implementation of his new regime. Now she tapped the neat list to colour-code it. She wouldn't actually give him the parchment, but she figured that if she read from it, she could earn her dismissal from him sooner than later. Something inside her kept squirming at the thought of being alone with him in his office once more, and she was glad to see Harry's familiar untidy writing appear on the parchment.

"Stag ready and waiting," it said, and vanished after Hermione read it.

"Sorry I had to leave so suddenly yesterday, Harry," she wrote. "Is Ron not there?"

"He's out scavenging for food. It's slim pickings around here."

She thought of her two friends, alone in the woods now that Grimmauld Place was out of bounds. She was deeply relieved that she had packed Perkins's old tent for them – at least they would have shelter, even if they didn't have food.

"Look for mushrooms," she wrote. "It's the right time of year for them."

"Huh, gross."

"How is the Horcrux?"

"Creepy. It's got a heartbeat or something. It's like I have two hearts in my chest."

"You're WEARING it?"

"Yes. D'uh."

Hermione shook her head vigourously, thinking of what had happened to Ginny with Riddle's diary, and of what she'd read in _Secrets of the Darkest Art_.

"Take it off, Harry. No one should be in close physical contact with a Horcrux for longer than strictly necessary. Ginny, remember?"

"Come off it. It's not whispering or anything. It just kind of ticks. Like a watch."

"Take it off. _Please_ , Harry."

"Ok, ok. I'll share it with Ron, that way neither of us is overly exposed to the jiggery pokery of it."

Hermione thought for a moment and nodded slowly to herself.

"Fine. But be careful handling it, Harry. I know you don't want to lose it or anything, but it's still a dangerous object. Take a look at _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ if you don't believe me."

"How are things over there at Hogwarts?" he asked, changing the subject in an obvious bid to forestall more lecturing.

Hermione contemplated what to tell him and decided almost immediately on the truth.

"Horrible. Be happy you're not here to see it. The teachers are all afraid, and a lot of the older students as well. We're trying to keep people as safe as possible, but the Carrows have already shown their true colours."

"Meaning?" The word was barely half-formed, and Hermione could imagine the anger rising in Harry's eyes as she wrote her reply.

"Meaning that Carrow used Sectumsempra on me for refusing to duel Malfoy in our first Dark Arts class."

His reply was immediate, scrawled almost on top of her own writing.

"Shit. SHIT. Are you ok? Why didn't you tell us sooner? Did Pomfrey fix it? Where did he hit you with it?"

"Yes, I'm ok, Harry. Don't worry. And no, it was Snape who fixed it. The cuts were on my face."

Harry blew up after that, swearing all over the parchment. She almost regretted telling him what had happened. He was the only person in the world – other than Snape – who had any idea of what she was actually involved with here. Finally, Hermione persuaded him to take the Horcrux off, and Harry reported that he felt better instantly, and calmer.

"Keep an eye on how it makes you both feel," she told him afterwards. "I really don't think you should wear it."

"I'll keep an eye on it, I promise."

Hermione checked her watch and sighed. Her last class of the day – Charms – was in fifteen minutes.

"I have to go, Harry. Tell Ron I say hi," she wrote, missing the both of them terribly at that moment.

"I will." The parchment was blank for a second before Harry continued, "I know you can't tell anyone over there that you're talking to us, but watch out for Ginny, please."

"Of course. She's strong, you know. And she's being a lot more careful than I'd expected."

"Just be safe. All of you."

"You too."

* * *

A/N 3: I don't buy for one second that Hermione Granger would have OK'd wearing that locket. I do buy Harry overlooking the side-effects of getting close to Horcruxes. I do buy Ron forgetting about his sister's horrible experience with the diary in _COS_. But I do not think that our beloved Know-It-All would have magically forgotten that Horcruxes can manifest serious power over those who hold them - she's seen them in action before, her memory runs longer than Ron's (and she's closer to Ginny), and she's studied Horcruxes academically and recently in _DH_. I don't usually quibble with Rowling, but I refuse to subscribe to this inconsistency.

A/N 4: Next chapter drops this weekend. And it's a doozy.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N 1: Ah, us Slytherins and our multi-layered ulterior motives...

* * *

Chapter 8

 _Stop dithering like a ninny_ , she told herself. She stood motionless outside the opulent office at the top of the spiralling staircase. Her palms were sweating, and she shifted her colour-coded list between one hand and the other in an effort to avoid staining it with the evidence of her nervousness. _Everything is fine_. She'd heard from her parents just the day before, and they'd reported that everything at Spinner's End was business as usual. The DA was recruiting steadily, and there hadn't been any serious attacks on members in a few days. But still Hermione felt something instinctive trying to rise up beyond her Mind's Eye, something that was trying to get her attention, but that flitted out of sight like a floater in her eyes whenever she tried to focus on it.

She raised her hand, which felt heavy as a stone, and tapped gently on the door.

"Enter."

He sat at the desk in almost the exact posture as when she and Malfoy had attended him here the first time, scratching out some missive, his dark head bent over his work. Hermione stood behind the chair in front of his desk, waiting and looking around the office. Something was _different_ … but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it might be. After a minute, she realised that she was fidgeting, scratching at the back of her left knee sock with her right foot.

"Sit," Snape said without looking up at her.

His rudeness struck her, and she stopped fidgeting and glared at the top of his head. He finally finished writing and looked up at her, his expression mildly annoyed.

"Did you not hear me, Miss Granger? I told you to sit."

"I would rather stand," she replied. "You seem to be very busy, so I won't take up any more of your time than necessary." She waved her parchment vaguely in front of her as she spoke.

" _Accio_ ," Snape hissed, and the colour-coded list sailed into his outstretched hand.

Hermione quickly sorted through the anger and embarrassment she felt, and stored them both away in her Mind's Eye. Snape was obviously trying to discomfit her, and she refused to let him win. If she had to deal with him regularly, she would at least stand her ground.

"As you can see," she told him, "your instructions at the start of the week have been implemented with some success so far. Some of the older students are less inclined to circulate about the castle in pairs, however – "

"Yes, Miss Granger, I am quite capable of interpreting this garish confection of rainbow-coloured trivialities." He put the parchment down. "I did not, however, summon you here in order to discuss the minutiae of your performance thus far as Head Girl."

Stung, Hermione immediately retaliated.

"Yes, well, it's not exactly been a picnic _thus far_ , has it?" she said, letting some of her tethered anger show through. "What with the cutting up of my face and all."

Snape gestured at the seat before him.

"Sit, Granger," he said again.

She held his eyes for a moment and then finally sat, feeling her earlier trepidation augmenting. After she was seated, Snape bent sideways and she heard him open a cabinet in the desk. With both hands he carefully retrieved a shallow stone basin that Hermione immediately recognised as a Pensieve. She looked from the magical object to Snape and back again, the fear curling in her gut. She tamped it down, stored it away, and neutralised herself yet again.

"Professor Dumbledore's Pensieve," she said quietly, looking up at the portrait behind Snape, only to realise what her subconscious had picked up on when she had first entered the office: Dumbledore was not in his portrait. She looked around. _None_ of the former Headmasters and Headmistresses was present. A frisson raced down her spine as Hermione realised that she was well and truly alone with the man before her.

"Indeed," Snape said in a neutral tone. "During these weekly sessions, you will use the Pensieve to deposit your memories of your friendship with Harry Potter. Every single memory involving Potter in that – ah – _encyclopaedic_ brain of yours." He sneered before continuing, "You will begin with the most recent memories, and work backwards from there. I will, of course, instruct you on how to do this. We will move forward gradually so as not to damage your psyche."

 _You were wrong_ , a nattering voice in her head whispered. _It's not Voldemort who wants to get into your head._

"No," she said aloud. It came out a whisper, so Hermione repeated it loudly. " _NO_."

Snape raised his eyebrows and smiled unpleasantly.

"What, the brightest witch of her age didn't anticipate this?" he sneered. "That brain of yours didn't formulate a colour-coded catalogue of the expectations I would place upon you as Head Girl?"

"You never mentioned this," she answered. "In fact, I recall _quite clearly_ that you said I was to be insurance and intermediary."

"What I _said_ ," he snapped, "is that you would be assigned the post of Head Girl and all that it requires." His smile widened, showing his crooked teeth. "And this is one of those requirements." He rose from his desk and planted his hands upon it, arms open so that his robes widened his silhouette. "You see, Miss Granger, no one else seems to have cottoned on that you and Weasley are Potter's helpers, that you are his _confidants_. I, on the other hand, have observed you three more closely than I ever wished to for six years now, and I _know_ that Potter has relayed every single piece of information he discovered from Dumbledore and from his own _adventures_ to you both. I would have that information, and you will provide it for me."

"You'll have to kill me, first," she told him, staring into his blank black eyes.

He smirked at her suddenly, his eyes coming to life at last, and sat back down behind the desk. Moving with the same economical grace as always, he put the Pensieve away, and Hermione felt an absurdly deep feeling of relief wash over her, colouring the entirety of her Mind's Eye. She glanced up again at the empty picture frames, and wondered what their occupants would have said to stop the man before her, if that was why he'd removed them. Snape was looking at her again, still smirking, eyes glinting with triumph. The relief bled away.

 _Something is still_ wrong, the nattering voice in her mind whispered. _Something is even_ more _wrong_.

"Thank you, Miss Granger," Snape said, giving her a mocking seated bow. "You have just made things much simpler."

And realisation hit her: she hadn't won anything just now, nor had she protected herself by upping the stakes, nor kept herself in line. She hadn't even employed Occlumency to her advantage. _No_. She'd just _confirmed_ that she had the knowledge he sought.

"It's what you wanted all along," she whispered, feeling herself shaking with a noxious mixture of rage and fear.

"What else could I have wanted from you, you silly girl?" He looked at her appraisingly. "Since you have made things so very easy for both of us this evening, I will favour you with another proposal."

Hermione was on her feet before he finished speaking, wand in hand, hair crackling with the electric anger she now allowed to course through her freely. Snape sat impassively, but one of his hands had disappeared beneath the desk, and she had no doubt that his wand was already primed with a defensive spell.

" _No_ ," she spat. "No, you bastard. You're _not_ doing this to me again. Fuck you and your proposal. Fuck _all_ of this."

And she threw her wand down onto his desk. The dark man stared first at Hermione's wand, and then into her face. He rose to his feet and circled around his desk to stand before her. She fought down the impulse to take a step back away from him.

"You give up so easily, Miss Granger," he said.

Hermione felt herself shaking, and she closed her eyes as she'd done in that horrible Dark Arts class, expecting a curse to land on her any moment, saying a quiet goodbye to everyone and everything she knew. Just as when Harry had broken her at the Burrow, Snape had cracked the Mind's Eye and now everything inside raged forward in chaos. All the emotion's she'd shoved into place surged through her. But she refused to cry. She ground her teeth instead, waiting.

"Here."

Snape took her hand and placed her wand back into it. Surprised, she opened her eyes and frowned down, wondering if he was about to do a Voldemort and demand that she duel him. She wouldn't – she couldn't. She wanted whatever it was to be quick; if he tried to tear into her mind, she had her Intercision blade in the back of her head, Mind's Eye or no, and if he just wanted to kill her she would close her eyes and take that too. She would protect the precious information she thought she'd guarded so carefully. She just hoped it would be quick for her parents.

"To think," Snape was saying as she prepared herself for his curse, "that a Gryffindor would be so easily defeated, and one of the _Golden Trio_ , no less."

She heard the sneer in his voice and looked up to see a matching expression on his face.

"What do you want, Snape?" she asked quietly, resignation and anger colouring her voice in equal measure. "I won't give you the information. You'll have to kill me and my parents, and even then you won't get it."

"That is not what I want."

She frowned.

"But you just _said_ – "

"You hear, Miss Granger, but you do not _listen_. I _said_ that I wanted to take those memories without damaging your psyche. There is only one way to do that."

"Your proposal," Hermione said. She looked at the man in front of her. Absurdly, the thought that struck her was that he didn't _fit_ the lavish surroundings of Dumbledore's office; he was a contrast to the beauty of the surroundings. He was jagged and hard and so aggressively determined that she could almost see the aura of darkness permeating the air around him. He nodded.

"I will teach you Occlumency," he said.

She drew herself up immediately.

"I can Occlude already," she said through a sneer of her own.

"Ah yes, you are employing Sentinella's methods to great effect. However, that effect is to broadcast not your thoughts and emotions, but your employment of Occlumency itself." He shook his head at her. "Tsk tsk, Miss Granger, it will _never_ do."

"It's kept _you_ out of my head."

"I have not yet attempted to get _in_. If I wanted to slip past your shields now, I could do so easily because instead of using Occlumency to conceal what actually matters, you were exhausting your magical stores by using it to block out _everything_. And so it was ludicrously simple for me to crack the brittle Mind's Eye you'd put up, and now here you are, more vulnerable than before. It was – if you'll forgive the Muggle expression – a rookie mistake."

"Why would teaching me Occlumency benefit you?" she demanded, trying to ignore the curiosity prickling at her.

"It would be an exchange that would benefit both of us. Please – " he gestured to the chair in front of his desk. When she sat down, he surprised her by sitting in the twin chair before the desk, turning it to face her. "I will teach you how to employ Occlumency safely and effectively. Furthermore, I will lend you books from my personal library, and I will ensure your safety from anyone else who might try to question you."

She looked at the man next to her. He sat easily in the chair, one foot resting on the opposite knee, his hands steepled beneath his chin. He was the picture of relaxation – in fact, the expression on his face looked almost bored. He was a perfect contrast to the tense, commanding figure who'd sat behind the desk at the start of this meeting. But his _eyes_ – his eyes were deep pools focused on her own with an intensity that frightened her. And the fear grounded her, so that she remembered what she had almost forgotten before, when he had been the one to save her from Umbridge and the Dementors, when he'd healed her curse wounds; she thought it with perfect clarity:

 _This man has saved me for himself… and now he is putting me exactly where he wants me_. _And I have no choice but to let him._

"And what do you get in return?" she asked at last.

He raised his eyebrows.

"I should think it is rather obvious."

"Spell it out for me, then."

He leaned forward a little.

"I get what I mentioned earlier. Access to your memories of Potter, and what he conveyed to you." He held up a long hand to forestall her angry outburst. "Yes, yes, I know that it is information you wish to defend to the death, but rest assured, Miss Granger, that _I_ am the one at a disadvantage here. It will be exceedingly difficult to penetrate your memories effectively enough to get a complete picture of what I wish to see, but my _trying_ to do so will be the best way to teach you Occlumency, and it will be my best chance of gaining that information without injuring you."

"Why would you care about injuring me?"

"You are more valuable to me alive and well. I did not lie to you, Miss Granger, about the political benefits of your position as Head Girl."

"But it's a paradox," Hermione countered. "The more you teach me, the more I'll learn to defend myself, the harder you'll push, and so on. We'll just keep matching each other… unless you simply overcome me to begin with."

"I remind you that should you enter into this arrangement, Miss Granger, I would guarantee your personal safety, which would preclude such an action on my part."

Hermione did the math. They would haggle now, she knew, deciding on price and payment. _But the Horcruxes_ … _If he gets to the memories he'll tell HIM that they're out hunting for them, and then it's all over._ She remembered the Intercision blade for the second time that evening and realised that she had an ace in her back pocket – albeit an extremely dangerous one that she would hopefully never play. But she was confident that with Snape's help with the rest of the Occlumency she could learn to cut away the memories of the Horcruxes on her own. If the worst happened, she could always wield the blade and risk nothing more than herself… and perhaps her family. It wasn't enough. She needed insurance of some sort.

"You will not divulge any of what you see to _anyone_ ," Hermione said firmly, straightening her spine and trying to remember everything she'd ever read about negotiating.

"And of what use is information that I may not share?" Snape asked, looking down at his fingernails nonchalantly.

"Information kept to oneself is always useful. If one can manage to get it, that is."

She watched as his eyes went slightly out of focus. He stared out the dark window behind her, tracing his thin mouth with his index finger in a characteristic gesture she recognised.

"The information will remain undisclosed until next summer," he said finally.

It was an excellent concession, but Hermione wanted more.

"And you will release my parents and myself at the end of the school year, one month _before_ divulging the information," she said quickly, cursing herself for sounding so eager, so _vulnerable_. But she would need to get back to Harry before Snape revealed they were hunting Horcruxes; she would buy as much time as she could. Just in case. "And," she added more slowly and firmly, "you will do this regardless of whether or not you are successful in your endeavour."

He stopped tracing his mouth, and looked into her eyes. She felt the pressure of the eye contact, and looked away, down at her hands in her lap. They were clenched together in a grip so tight it was almost painful.

"I'm giving you access to my… to everything, Snape," she said quietly, frightened by the fact as she voiced it. "You'll have months to break me down. You have to let me go afterwards."

"One week."

"Two."

"Done."

She looked at him, trying to emulate the same air of calm that radiated from him. Inside, she was screaming. _There was no choice_ , a voice nattered on in her head, _it was this or…_

"Before I agree to this formally," she blurted, "I require you to make an Unbreakable Vow."

She and Snape looked at each other for a long moment before he spoke again.

"Dobby," he said, surprising her yet again.

The house elf appeared immediately, standing in the narrow space between their chairs.

"Harry Potter's friend, miss," the elf said, bowing deeply to Hermione before turning to Snape with an even deeper bow. "Headmaster, sir."

"I require you to perform the binding for an Unbreakable Vow," Snape told the elf briskly. "I will instruct you. You will keep your knowledge of this matter secret, Dobby, is that understood?"

Dobby nodded soberly, staring between Hermione and the dark man. Snape reached out and clasped Hermione's hand firmly in his own, and her stomach flipped over. His hand was strong, and she could feel the magic coursing through him, beneath his palm. It was darker than her own, which always seemed to flash out like lightening. His was liquid and cool, and thinking of it this way while touching him made her blush. She nodded at him to begin.

"Place your hand over ours, Dobby," the headmaster said. The elf did so at once. "And now exert a mild force of will over our joined hands while I make the Vow. It should take very little of your energy because you are simply calling upon my own magic to bind myself to my words. Is that clear?"

The elf nodded, and Hermione felt the warmth of another foreign magic over their clasped hands. She knew the elf was powerful, but having his power validated and used by Snape resonated oddly with her sensibilities toward House Elf enslavement. _But Dobby isn't a slave anymore_ , the chattering part of her mind whispered to her.

"I, Severus Snape," the man began, and Hermione felt his dusky power running through her hand, and up her arm, "hereby vow that I will teach Hermione Granger Occlumency. I will ensure her safety throughout this endeavour, above my own goals in teaching her. I will keep any information I glean from her secret until two weeks after the end of this school year, when I will release her and her parents from my custody and back to the Order of the Phoenix."

* * *

A/N 2: There you have it, folks. Let me know what you think of this [probably-unexpected-but-hopefully-intriguing] twist.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: I have the best readers. I love your reviews, each and every one. Special thanks to guest reviewers - I can't send you PMs to reply directly :). Now let's get down to some shenanigans.

* * *

Chapter 9

"Your father and I miss you terribly, Hermione. We miss our practice as well, and our friends and our clients. But we're so glad to be in such a safe place. And it really has improved from what you saw in the summer.

"That professor of yours showed up last night. He was ever so kind – he knocked on the front door of his own home. He needed to gather some supplies from the cellar, which he has kept locked since we arrived here. I will admit some curiosity regarding whatever it is he keeps down there, but the look on his face when I asked for a tour told me all I need to know. He told us that you and he are to have weekly meetings this year during your reign as Head Girl. Oh, Hermione, I'm so proud of you. It sounds like Professor Snape wants to take you under his wing, and that can only be to the good, my dear. I know that he is far from your favourite teacher at Hogwarts, but he's bound to have excellent connections in your world.

"Anyway, Daddy and I are off to do our exercises in the backyard – it is hard to be holed up here all the time, but we are trying to keep fit. Our love to you, my darling girl."

Hermione read the missive twice more before taking out her wand and Vanishing it. She glanced around the Great Hall. Monday morning breakfasts were usually a subdued thing, and she saw more than a few students looking towards her furtively, only to look away again once she caught their eye. She had requested that McGonagall call a meeting on the schedules of those students who had already signed the DA's roster. They would meet that evening in the Room of Requirement to enrol new members and make plans for the year. Hermione especially wanted to discuss how to counter the Carrow siblings' tight hold on the school.

She pushed back from the bench and stood, catching Ginny's eye. The girl winked at her before turning back to her conversation with Neville. Hermione left the Great Hall with Luna, as planned.

"So tonight's the night?" Luna asked as they crossed in the Entrance Hall.

"Yes," she whispered. "You're good to bring the third years you mentioned, but clear anyone else with Ginny or Neville first."

"That sounds fine," Luna answered, grinning mildly at her.

Hermione walked Luna to her first class – Charms. They discussed plans to make leaflets visible only to DA members, detailing safety measures to counter some of the nastier things the Carrows had been doing. Hermione then went down the corridor towards the Library.

"Granger," said a voice behind her. She looked back to see Malfoy detach himself from a frowning Pansy Parkinson and hurry to catch up with her.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

He fell into step beside her.

"You're not walking with a _buddy_ , Granger," he said in a low voice.

"I don't answer to you, Malfoy, and you know that those rules are for the _other_ students," she said. She stopped and faced him in the corridor. "What do you _want_?"

"I want to know what Snape and you talked about during your meeting on Friday," Malfoy answered, his eyes intent.

Hermione felt her eyebrows shoot up.

"No," she said immediately. "It's none of your business. Get to class, Malfoy. I know you have Transfiguration now."

She turned away from him, but he followed behind her once again.

"It can be an exchange, Granger," he said, his voice pitched very low. "I'll tell you if you'll tell me."

"No fucking way," she answered. "Shove off, Malfoy, I've got reading to do."

Anger swept over his face, but Hermione turned her back to him firmly and walked into the library. She had research to do before the meeting tonight.

* * *

"Quiet down, everyone," Ginny said, shooting red sparks into the air.

The entire DA, minus Harry, Ron and the Muggle-borns, faced the last Weasley left at Hogwarts, and quieted down immediately. They had each brought at least one non-member they wanted admitted to the group who had already been pre-approved by one of the other leaders and Hermione.

"So," Ginny said, her voice businesslike, "you each need to sign the paper there," she pointed to the new contract tacked to the wall of the Room of Requirement, "before we can go any further. And yes, before you ask, you will be as sorry as that Edgecomb sneak if you even _think_ of betraying us. If you don't want to sign this, Hermione will Obliviate you in short order, and any protection you might have received from the DA will be forfeit." Ginny had negotiated this point over Hermione and Neville's protests. "Who's first?"

There was some grumbling, but the students lined up and, one by one, added their names to the list. Hermione let out a breath. The Room of Requirement was almost identical to how it had been during the original DA's meetings, but it was larger, better-equipped, and it seemed that Neville had figured out a way to make it impregnable. She suppressed a shudder at the thought of the Carrow siblings suddenly interrupting a DA session. Somehow she thought that their reaction would make Dolores Umbridge look like a kitten.

"Right," she said loudly, once the last signature had been scrawled on the parchment. "Thank you all for coming. The first order of business will be to elect an official leader – "

"All in favour of Hermione, raise your hand," Ginny interrupted firmly, her voice ringing out over their heads. Hermione glared at her, but was startled when every single hand shot up. She felt herself blushing.

"Right," she said again. "Er… thanks. So, now that's settled, I'd like to go over the aims of our organization this year. First off, we need to ensure the safety of our fellow members, and of Hogwarts students in general. Our primary threats this year are Headmaster Snape and the Carrow siblings. Professor Snape has already told me to assign all detentions I give out to Hagrid, which is a win for us. The Carrows, though, seem keen on administering their punishments more… er… directly." She looked at the young Ravenclaws Luna had brought; they all sported magnificent bruises across both cheeks. "I implore each and every one of you not to offer them any reason to punish you. Keep your head down, and try not to rise to any kind of bait."

"What about Carrow's duels, Hermione?" Lavender asked pointedly. "Even _you_ wouldn't participate."

"Thanks, Lavender, for bringing up my next point," Hermione said, smiling wanly. "Yes, although Alecto Carrow seems content to drone on about the filth of Muggles and Muggle-borns in lieu of teaching class, her brother wants all of us to, essentially, hurt one another during his classes. I believe that Luna has figured out an effective way to counter that particular demand. Luna?"

Luna nodded, her radish earrings swinging. She stood up taller, and smiled dreamily at the assembly before beginning.

"I believe," she said, "that if enough of us try, we can just fake these duels for the most part. I'm working on a charm to create illusory bruises and cuts. It's a bit tricky, but I think we can train ourselves to perform the charm silently while saying the curse incantations aloud."

"What if we're against a Slytherin?" a voice called out.

Hermione nodded at Luna in thanks, and looked around at the faces before her; they looked as sceptical as she herself had felt before Luna had explained the charm to her in detail. It would take some more time to complete, but Hermione was confident that Luna would make it easy enough for even the third-years to manage. Luckily, Carrow did not seem to expect the youngest students to fight – yet.

"Thanks, Luna," Hermione said, taking over once more. "In the meantime, and to address the previous question, I suggest that we all practice Disarming and Shield Charms as much as possible so that if we're in a duel with a member of Slytherin, we can at least defend ourselves. Neville," she smiled at the plump boy next to her, "has managed to keep this Room in existence as long as at least one member of the DA is inside at all times. I have therefore devised a schedule for two students to occupy the room at all times throughout the day during their free periods. This means that you will all have access to a space not only for safety, but for practice as well, should you need it. Neville?"

"Thanks, Hermione," Neville said, stepping forward. "It'll be a pain to keep the Room open all night, but we've already figured out a way to link up Hermione's dormitory with the Room, so she can spend her nights here, and the Gryffindors can get to her through Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. As the DA expands, we'll be able to rotate more people in and out of the Room more and more during the day. It'll be a bit tough at first, but us older students have enough free periods to cover the time – we think."

A fourth-year Hufflepuff raised her hand tentatively. Neville nodded to her.

"Uh, sorry, but… " she trailed off shyly, "but what if the Carrows or Snape notice that there's less students around?"

"Two less students on continual rotation shouldn't make a difference to anyone," Hermione said. "The schedule will alternate often enough that no one will miss meals entirely, and like Neville says, when membership climbs high enough, we'll easily have enough people to keep the Room open without any strain on anyone." She noticed a few unconvinced faces. "This leads me to my next point…"

She continued, outlining their recruitment plan: she wanted to recruit every single member of Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw. They were to start with the younger students next, who would be enrolled later that week, and then fill in the gaps the following week. By the end of September, the three houses would all be DA members.

The rest of the meeting was taken up with practicing defensive magic, and a re-emphasis of the importance of circulating through the school in pairs.

* * *

"Well, that was stressful," Neville sighed, dropping down onto one of the squashy cushions they'd used during practice. Everyone except for him, Hermione, Luna, and Ginny had left.

"Yes," Luna said vaguely, "it was a little, but I think it went well overall."

"Are you sure you're ok to spend nights here?" Ginny asked Hermione, looking at her closely. "It'll be a bit spooky all alone, won't it?"

Hermione shrugged.

"Not really," she pointed to a door on the far side of the room. "If I need anyone, you're just a door away. Plus," she added, nudging Neville, " _some_ one was kind enough to ask the Room for a comfortable bedroom for me."

"Ok, then, we'd better be off," Ginny said.

"Hang on," Hermione said, taking the Marauder's Map back out of her pocket; she had used it to guide the other students safely back to their common rooms. "Ok, you and Neville are good to go – we're just two corridors away from the Gryffindor common room at the moment. But Luna needs an escort. Would you two mind cleaning up a bit while I see Luna back to the Ravenclaw common room?"

"'Course not," Neville chirped.

"Goodnight, friends," Luna said to Ginny and Neville, as she and Hermione left the Room of Requirement.

* * *

Hermione was alone on the way back to the Room of Requirement; although it let out at a different point in the castle every time someone exited, it remained approachable on the seventh floor, and so she had to go up two floors, and get to the other side of the castle. The Carrows, she saw on the Marauder's Map, were patrolling in a pair on the third floor, and Snape was pacing his office. She groaned inwardly: Malfoy's little dot was right outside of the Room on the seventh floor.

"Shit," Hermione said in an undertone as she ascended to the sixth floor. She kept going, trying hard not to worry when she saw that Malfoy was still stationary outside the Room when she arrived. She had already made a mental note to ask Neville about making the Room appear elsewhere to access from the outside.

"I thought I might find you here, Granger," Malfoy said when he saw her. He leaned lazily against the statue of Barnabas the Barmy.

"Malfoy," she said. "What is it?"

"I want to know what you're doing inside the Room of Hidden Things."

Hermione shook her head.

"Go on back to your Common Room, Malfoy," she told him. "There's nothing for you here."

He pushed himself off the statue and stood before Hermione. She had expected anger and resentment followed by threats, but he simply looked at her.

"Alright then," he said quietly. "But I know that something is going on here. I saw how many students came towards this place earlier."

Hermione felt her face start to heat up, but quashed the fear immediately, and shrugged.

"So what if you did?"

Malfoy returned the shrug and turned away. At the end of the hall, he paused.

"Be careful," he said over his shoulder. "The Carrows are patrolling tonight, and they know that you, Longbottom, and Weasley are still out of bed."

* * *

The night was long. Hermione couldn't help feeling odd in the huge Room of Requirement, despite the little corner Neville had asked it to set aside for her, and despite the fact that the Room had kindly shut off the larger DA headquarters in response to her discomfort. Finally, after tossing and turning on the comfortable four-poster that looked and felt exactly like the one in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione sat up and flicked a candle to life. She sat still, at a loss for a moment before drawing the Marauder's Map out of the beaded bag.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," she said quietly to the map, "and that I can't sleep to boot."

The lines appeared, and Hermione checked on her friends and fellow DA members first. They were all ensconced in their respective dormitories. She saw that Peeves was bouncing around the Great Hall, and that Filch was crossing the Entrance Hall, doubtlessly to confront the poltergeist. The Carrows had separated; Alecto was now in her office, while her brother continued to patrol. Hermione looked at Dumbledore's office, and was surprised not to find Snape there; she scanned the map and saw his little dot off to the side, somewhere deep in the Forbidden Forest. She watched, puzzled, as he meandered through the woods in a large circle around the castle, until he had reached the edge of the forest, and she suddenly wished that the Room had a window.

 _Pop!_

Hermione gasped and then smiled when she saw a window appear in the wall next to her bed, knowing already that it would overlook the precise spot where Snape must now be walking. She got up before thinking about it and peered through the small window. A shadow stood at the edge of the forest. The waxing moon was rising behind the castle, throwing silvery light across the lawn, and lighting the pale countenance of Severus Snape, who stood perfectly still, looking up at the stars. Hermione stared at him for a few moments. _Is he returning from Voldemort? Is there something else in the Forest tonight that he needed to put to rest? Or is he just… walking…_

He was too far away – she could not make out his features – but suddenly he was turning and then facing the castle.

"Shit," she said, and ducked out from behind the window as quickly as she could. She stared at the candle on her bedside table. Would he have been able to make her out, backlit as she had been? She shook her head ruefully; any decent spy would have known to extinguish the light before looking out into the night. She did so now, waited a few moments and then peered back outside.

Snape still stood at the edge of the forest, and Hermione felt her stomach swoop when she saw that his head was still turned her way. As she watched, the dark man nodded once in her direction, and then turned and walked on.

* * *

A/N 2: Lesson The First will be up this weekend. Have a good week, everyone!


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Here we go...

* * *

Chapter 10

The week passed quickly, despite how full Hermione's schedule was. Between her classes, her ongoing research, her long communiqués with Harry and Ron, and her careful scheduling of the DA members to keep the Room of the Requirement open, Hermione had almost no time to herself. What little time she _did_ have was spent in the late evenings, in the Room itself.

Despite putting Occlumency aside as much as she could as per Snape's instructions, she found herself drawing upon her Mind's Eye unintentionally as her stress levels built, and especially in her most demanding classes; the Carrows were putting all of the students through their paces. She Occluded all through Muggle Studies in order to keep herself in line, but Alecto Carrow called on her frequently, usually to answer half-formed trick questions intended to incriminate Hermione as a Mudblood. The Ravenclaws, who took the class with the Gryffindors, scrupulously wrote their notes, and kept their heads down, but Hermione had to restrain Seamus Finnegan more than once when he tried to be smart with Professor Carrow. Amycus Carrow had backed off of having students duel during his classes. Instead, he fired questions at them seemingly at random, and demanded that they research Dark spells and methods for long essays, which he then read aloud to the class and commented on extensively. When it was not dull, it was difficult. The Slytherins seemed to delight in the material, while Neville ground his teeth. More than once, he had been required to give a detailed description of the damage Bellatrix Lestrange had inflicted on his parents. Hermione had to tap on his foot to remind him to stay calm in many of the lessons.

The DA was holding fast to their schedules and principles; Hermione had found the time to formally enrol over 50 new members throughout the week, usually during the evening after her rounds and before turning in. These new members consisted almost entirely of first and second years who came in groups of two, nervous and frightened. The roster in the Room of the Requirement was now crowded with names, and Hermione had flipped it over to add even more signatures.

She smiled now, looking at it during one of her spare periods. Several older students were using the Room to practice defensive magic while Neville looked on, giving tips and taking note of their progress. She was proud of the group they'd managed to put together in such a short amount of time, but there were still aspects of this brave new Hogwarts that hadn't quite been reckoned with. The Carrows did rounds many evenings of the week, and last night had beaten a set of fifth-year Hufflepuff prefects, Gladys Prescott and Philip Blagdon, black and blue for finding two Slytherin students who were out after curfew. They had required treatment from Madam Pomfrey, who had summoned Hermione to enrol them into the DA immediately after they had recovered.

She thought now of tacking the Marauder's Map to the wall alongside the register in order to counter future attacks, but quickly dismissed the idea; it was one of those tools that Harry had rarely shared, and she would follow his example. It would be far too easy for such a thing to fall into the hands of their enemies, and what would they do then?

* * *

The door to the Headmaster's office opened before Hermione could knock. Unnerved, she stepped inside Snape's office, expecting to see him behind the desk as usual, but he stood waiting for her. The desk, she saw, along with all the spindle-legged tables and their instruments, was pushed awkwardly up against the circular walls. Snape stood in the very centre of the room, his eyebrows raised, posture relaxed.

"Good evening, Miss Granger," he said mildly. "As amusing as it is to await the end of your dithering outside my door, I thought we might cut to the chase this evening in the interest of both practicality and sanity."

"Right," Hermione said, making firm eye contact with Snape and refusing to give him the upper hand despite the surprise he'd given her. "Let's get on with it, then."

"You look tired," he remarked.

She shrugged in response and looked away, remembering that he had caught sight of her that first night she'd spent in the Room of Requirement.

"I would like to begin by assessing your current mental status," Snape went on, and she stared at him. "I will thus ask that you put up no resistance so that I may use Legilimency to do a brief sweep of you mind."

Hermione felt her mouth open immediately to rebuff him, and to tell him where he could put his assessment, but Snape cut her off.

"Yes, Miss Granger, I know that I am an untrustworthy bastard who has clear designs on the most sensitive memories you possess," he said smoothly, "but I would remind you before you – ah – _scold_ me that I am under pain of death to teach you Occlumency safely. I am therefore incapable of taking what I want without giving you plenty in return."

"And I'm just supposed to trust you?" she heard herself ask.

"No," Snape answered, stepping forward slowly. "You are supposed to trust the Vow I made, which will kill me if I betray you." He advanced another step or two and frowned down into her face. "We will have no success here, Granger, if you do not establish some form of confidence in this process, if not in me."

Hermione felt everything inside her raging beneath the surface, and she quickly stomped down on the impulse to pull up her Mind's Eye and hide behind it. She nodded slowly to herself, and then to the dark man before her.

"Again," he said, taking his wand out of his sleeve and pointing it into her face. Hermione fought the urge to draw her own wand, "I will not attempt to sift through any memories. I will examine the current state of your mind, and I will tell you everything I see afterwards. I ask that you share your experience of it as well."

She nodded again. Snape whispered the incantation.

It happened quickly. She was falling into his black eyes – or were they falling into her? – and then she could _feel_ him inside her. One moment they were looking at one another, and the next she was somewhere dark with a slanting grey light, and she recognised the Mind's Eye she had constructed what seemed like forever ago now. She could not see herself, nor Snape, but she could feel his presence. He lingered and, true to his word, he did not try to open any of her drawers or files, he simply _looked_ , his presence moving slowly through the front of her mind, over the bookshelves she'd set up and the filing cabinets and the drawers, until he found the area near the back, the one that held the hidden Intercision blade, and where the depth of what she suffered before he rescued her from Umbridge's custody oozed forward to taint the entire mindscape in a viscous, dark, fluid. She felt disgust and fear and hatred rile up inside her. She was suddenly raw and open – broken and beaten, like back _then_. Her Mind's Eye erupted, and suddenly her files and folders were flying about everywhere, and she was reeling.

He was gone as suddenly as he'd arrived, and she was staring into glinting eyes the colour of coal, and then she was falling forward, blinking stupidly in the muted candlelight of his office, and he was catching her by the shoulders as she hyperventilated. He spoke, but she could not hear him; she sat, his long hand on her back, holding her head down between her knees, a warm pressure against her spine and ribcage.

"… must calm yourself, Miss Granger," he was saying softly, rapidly. "That's it, deeper breaths now. Calm yourself."

Hermione blinked tears from her eyes and batted his hand away so that she could sit up in the chair. She wiped her face with the sleeve of her robes and tried to set herself more or less to rights before she looked up and glared at the man standing beside her. He looked calm, focused and – her stomach did a strange turn – concerned.

"What the hell did you just do to me?" she demanded.

Snape took a step back, and turned away from her.

"Precisely what I said I would," he answered as he walked in a slow circle around his office. "I explored the surface of your mind and did a cursory examination of the state of your psyche."

"You were looking for _weakness_ ," she hissed at him, remembering the holes he'd found, the horror he'd let out. "You wanted a good look at what can hurt me."

"Incorrect, Granger," he snapped, turning back to her abruptly. "I needed to see how you are healing from the psychic attacks of the Dementors, whether you have done the work to help yourself since then." He glared down his nose at her. "And, clearly, you have _not_."

"I walked," she snapped back. "I walked all over Devon. I walked until I _ached_."

"And what have you done since arriving here?" he demanded, his dark eyes boring into hers.

Hermione glared at him, and turned away, running both hands through her bushy hair. She could feel herself shaking.

"I haven't had time," she said. "It's been so –" she cut herself off.

" _Make_ time."

She nodded stiffly, knowing he was right, but still hating to concede the point. Snape waved his wand and two chairs sailed over from where they'd been pushed up against the wall, and arranged themselves in the centre of the room. He took one and gestured for her to sit in the other.

"What did you see, Miss Granger?"

Hermione thought for a moment before answering.

"It was… odd. I saw the Mind's Eye I've been working with since…" she trailed off, gesturing vaguely. Snape nodded. "Right. I saw it, but it was off, somehow. Dim and… wrong."

"Did you see me?"

"No," Hermione shuddered, remembering how his presence had felt. "No, but I could tell you were there."

"Good," Snape shifted in the chair, and he was suddenly the Potions Master once more, erect and erudite. "What you saw was a mixture of what you have constructed and what you projected for me, tinged by whatever you were feeling at the time – in this instance, nervous trepidation." Hermione glared at him, but he continued as though he didn't notice. "My own presence within your psyche was not unnoticed, which means that you have developed some sensitivity to outsiders despite your unaccompanied training."

Hermione felt herself almost vibrating with her need to ask questions, and was relieved when Snape glanced at her and sighed before nodding.

"Thank you, sir," she said. "What do you mean by 'projected for me'? I wasn't aware of projecting anything, just of my Mind's Eye forming as usual."

"When a Legilimens enters the mind of a subject with no Occlumency training, they will usually have access to whatever normal thought processes are running at the time. There will be stream of consciousness, important or necessary memories and experiences on standby, emotional content, and so forth, but it is often jumbled, and almost always messy. When an Occlumens is the subject of Legilimency, their default interface is what appears as the mind automatically lines up a defense. Naturally, if I had been attempting to break into your memories themselves, the interface would have fallen away from your viewpoint, and you would have begun to view the memories themselves."

"So…" she thought for a moment. "Doesn't that mean it is easier to sort through an Occlumens's mind?"

Snape shook his head.

"Messy minds contain a number of… shortcuts to their most sensitive memories and experiences; those that inform the character and intentions of the person in question will be very easy to find within the chaos, and these are often the ones a Legilimens is seeking. An Occlumens worth his salt, however, would have organised his mind to re-route intruders _away_ from sensitive information."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully before she caught Snape's eye. He was sitting upright in the chair, and studying her with an intensity that made her a little uncomfortable. She looked down at her hands before she continued with her questions.

"And what did you see in my mind?"

"A fussy little office full of shelves, drawers, and cabinets that could only belong to a complete swot."

He said it in a completely neutral tone, but that somehow made it worse.

"Oh," she retorted before she could stop herself. "And what's in your mind? A revolting museum of jars filled with decaying, putrid crap that could only belong to a complete bastard?"

To her surprise, he just raised his eyebrows.

"You know the incantation," he said, his tone mildly challenging.

Hermione stared at him for a moment. _Does he really mean for me to –_ Snape interrupted her thought process by rolling his eyes and letting out an indignant huff.

"If you are going to be so _squeamish_ about these lessons, Miss Granger, we may have to reconsider our respective missions here."

Hermione glared at him for a moment before she raised her wand.

" _Legilimens!_ "

She was somewhere cool and dark. She felt oddly whole, oddly _corporal_. She looked down and saw that she stood in swampy grass; when she shifted, her feet squelched in the wet. Looking up, she saw a dark mass of sky with neither moon nor stars. The wet grass spread out as far as she could see. When she shifted to look around again, she saw that some sort of ghostly light shimmered across the turf: there were small pools interspersed all along the dark plain of Snape's mind, and light rose up in tendrils from these. She walked forward a step and peered down into the closest pool. She saw something that looked like a woman reflected in it and – _is that me_?

Suddenly, she was reeling backwards.

"Ouch!" she yelled as she hit the floor sideways.

"I did _not_ give you permission to snoop, Granger."

Hermione took a moment to glare at Snape, who still sat in the chair with his perfect posture and his dark curtains of hair and his eyes blazing. She got up off the floor and stumbled back into her seat.

"I didn't mean to – I wanted to see… it just kind of happened…" she cut herself off.

Snape stared at her strangely for a moment before shrugging minutely.

"And what did you see?"

Hermione thought about it for a moment before answering. She described his mindscape as best she could, and he nodded slowly as she spoke.

"What you saw is my personal Mind's Eye," he said. "I have constructed it both consciously and subconsciously over the years."

"Subconsciously?" she demanded. "But how? And why? And how on earth does one – "

"Do attempt to restrain yourself, Granger. I can answer only one question at a time."

She found herself actually smiling a little at his sarcasm before she restrained herself once more.

"Ok," she said calmly. "How do you do _anything_ with your subconscious?"

He answered that question. And then the next, and every single one afterwards. He told her about the slow, arduous construction of his Mind's Eye, which took years, and he described the ways he had tapped into his subconscious in order to assist the endeavour, and to strengthen his defenses with his own natural impulses. It was a fascinating discussion involving dream interpretation, exercises with Boggarts, and even Muggle yoga, and Hermione itched to take notes, but Snape forbade it as soon as she glanced at her backpack. They would leave no record of their lessons – except deep within their respective minds.

"Further questions, Miss Granger?" he asked. "It is getting late and _some_ of us enjoy sleeping at night rather than peeping out of windows."

She felt herself blush a little, briefly cursing the openness of her current psyche.

"Sorry, sir," she said. "It's just so much more interesting than I thought it could be."

The professor's lips actually twitched at the corners at that remark, and Snape bowed his head in agreement.

"Now," he said briskly after a moment. "I require that you see to your psychic damage before we move on to practicing any of what we've been discussing this evening."

He waved his wand lazily. A door opened at the back of the room, and a book flew towards them both. Snape caught it and handed it to Hermione. She looked at the cover and smiled despite herself: _Chakra Clearing_ by Doreen Virtue.

"Chakras, sir?"

"Indeed," he said, his tone shifting towards one of dismissal. "Ms. Virtue is a Muggle author who has some excellent insights on healing one's psyche. Read it over and try some of the exercises."

"I'll have it back to you for Monday – "

" _No_ ," he said, looking at her sharply. "You will not devour it. You will not memorise it. You will _read_ it, consider it, and attempt to use the wisdom therein to heal yourself. And you will not use your Mind's Eye at all until our next meeting, unless there is some emergency."

Hermione opened her mouth to snap back at him, but he was already turning away, flicking a hand in dismissal as he made his way towards his desk.

"Goodnight, sir," she told him quietly.

* * *

A/N 2: There you have it, gentle readers. Please let me know what you think!


	11. Chapter 11

A/N 1: Apologies for breaking my bi-weekly update pattern, gentle readers. Real life has caught up to me in a very uncomfortable, expansive way, and I will be updating only on the weekends for now. Fear not; this story is going very strong, and we're not even close to catching up with what I've written out already.

A/N 2: 99 reviews. 200 followers. And 13,500 hits. You guys make me very, very happy. Thank you all.

* * *

Chapter 11

Hermione read the entire book on Chakras that night. She shrugged off her mild hesitation at disobeying Snape so flagrantly, and instead decided that flouting his commands made her feel satisfyingly rebellious.

She doubted she could have stopped reading anyway. Not only was Virtue's simple prose on the subject compelling, but the margins of the book were heavily annotated with Snape's spikey, impatient handwriting. Hermione quickly realised that his notes were magical additions and addenda (and, sometimes, corrections) to Virtue's understanding of Chakra healing and clearing. Where Virtue wrote of the unblocking of the natural spiritual power within each Chakra, Snape scrawled about gently strengthening corresponding magical abilities; he took issue with her work on God and the angels, and added whole paragraphs on historic magical and religious figures, many of whom were one and the same; when she waxed poetic about inborn healing and psychic abilities, Snape added line after line on inborn Occlumency and magically-enhanced psychic protection. It was fascinating – and confusing – reading, and by the time Hermione got to the last page, the sun was clearing the horizon.

She read Snape's final comments with heavily-lidded eyes, and her mind didn't register his words until she'd almost nodded off:

"Miss Granger, if you have read this book in one sitting against my express instructions, you will know my displeasure at our next meeting. That is, unless you prove yourself capable of grasping and employing the healing concepts in this book to my satisfaction. I advise a slower (and more intelligent) reread followed by thorough practice. SS"

"Of course," Hermione muttered, before setting the volume aside at last and dropping off to sleep.

* * *

Hermione practiced as diligently as she could throughout the week, setting aside time in the Room of Requirement, which graciously added yet another new room, this one with large cushions on a plush carpeted floor, a small, decorative fountain, and a distinctly _zen_ feel to it. She reread the book, slowly this time, and tried _not_ to memorise it, which was surprisingly difficult. She also called upon the Room to create a space suitable for long walks, and it obligingly became cathedral-sized and full of piles and towers of junk. She spent hours walking at night, staring in wonderment at the Room of Hidden things, and making up stories about the objects she saw and the people who so desperately wanted to be rid of them. The only thing the Room couldn't supply, and which she wished for every day, was to have her time-turner back; between her heavy NEWT classes and homework, her obligations to the DA, her diligent supervision of the Marauder's Map, her long conversations with Harry and Ron, _and_ her work for Snape, sleep was hard to come by.

"You're dead on your feet again, 'Mione," Ginny said to her one morning. "I thought we set you a proper bedtime, you know, _before_ sunrise."

Hermione stifled a yawn and reached across Neville to grasp a plate of sausages.

"I know, Ginny," she answered. "But there's a lot to keep track of, and I have trouble sleeping these days anyway."

It was true: although she carefully avoided using her Mind's Eye throughout the day time, it cropped up in her dreams. It wasn't, however, the well-appointed little chamber she'd set up over the course of the summer; it was the slanting, _off_ room that Snape had seen when he'd checked on her. It was full of little holes that congealed together into one huge _emptiness_. She shuddered to think of it.

"You should let us help with you _duties_ ," Ginny said in an undertone so that only Hermione and Neville could hear her. "I can take the Marauder's Map for you a few nights a week. At least when I patrol."

Hermione looked at her friend and shrugged. She didn't want anyone except herself to have access to the Map. It wasn't that she didn't trust Ginny or Neville or Luna – they would never purposefully let the Map come to harm – Hermione didn't trust that they would do what would need to be done should someone catch them using it.

"I can't, Ginny," Hermione answered, just as quietly. "I'm sorry. The Map is our best resource, and I can't risk it floating around the castle for Professor Snape or the Carrows to get a hold of. You get that, don't you?"

"But what if I used it at night?" Ginny demanded, undeterred. "You spend way too much time alone in the Room of Requirement, Hermione. Let someone else play watchdog for a few nights a week. Get some _socialising_ in. You're starting to look rather cracked."

"No," Hermione said, more firmly.

Ginny looked at Neville, eyebrows raised, her hand up in an indignant gesture. Neville sighed, but took up the cause.

"Ginny's right, Hermione," he said, and Hermione was impressed by the directness of his gaze. "The Map is our best resource, just like you say, and you're the only one allowed to use it. We might see something you don't. We might –"

"Harry gave it to me," Hermione said, her voice still pitched very low, but barbed with authority now. "He gave it to _me_. Not to the DA, not to you. And I will use it as _I_ see fit."

Ginny opened her mouth to argue further, but Neville put a calming hand on her arm.

"Leave it, Gin," he said.

"But we aren't _doing_ anything," Ginny hissed.

"Enough," Neville said. He did a cursory scan of the Great Hall. "We can discuss this tomorrow at the meeting – we shouldn't be talking about DA stuff here anyway."

"The Map is not up for discussion," Hermione said. "And this is _not_ a democracy."

Ginny threw each of them a disgusted look and rose from the table, her breakfast hardly touched. As she left, Neville gave Hermione a pointed shrug, and she felt her appetite fall away entirely.

* * *

Hermione was half afraid that Ginny would demand to open the issue of the map to the larger DA the following evening, but the redhead simply took her place at Hermione's right and helped to conduct the meeting as expected. It went well, and Neville did a head-count that yielded an astounding number.

"We've topped the 100 mark, everyone," Hermione announced, jubilation making her voice ring out over the crowd of students. "I'm so glad that you've all committed to the DA, and that you're all on board to keep your fellow students safe at Hogwarts this year. Updated timetables will be handed out by Lavender and Parvati on your way out. Please leave in pairs, and shut the door after each pair leaves. The room will automatically exit in a different location when it is reopened. Until the next meeting, everyone!"

A smattering of applause, and the students began to line up at the exit, flanked by a smiling Lavender and Parvati. Ginny sidled up to Hermione.

"I want to talk to you," she said in an undertone. Hermione registered that Luna and Neville were making their way over as well.

"Sure," Hermione answered, her earlier worries resurfacing. "Let's let the Room empty, and then we'll have a talk."

It took a little under ten minutes for the students to exit the Room safely, with Hermione quickly checking and double-checking the locations of the DA's enemies as the students left on the Marauder's Map. When everyone was safely ensconced in their Common Rooms, she turned back to her friends.

"Right," Hermione said, straightening her back and pocketing the Map. "Ginny has something she'd like to discuss with us."

"I want to use the DA's resources," Ginny said determinedly, "to steal the sword of Gryffindor from Snape's office. We'll find a way to get it to Harry. _He_ should have the sword, not the Greasy Slytherin Bat."

The bald statement hung in the air around them, and Hermione had to fight not to bury her surprise within her Mind's Eye. She was further surprised that Neville and Luna hadn't already been briefed on Ginny's proposal– she had figured that the redhead was setting up an ambush. No: Ginny was playing fair, mostly. And Hermione felt her stomach flip with excitement as the idea took hold, and her mind started to race. _We could get the sword to Harry – he could finally destroy the locket, and any other Horcruxes he finds!_ She thought of the sword in its ostentatious case in Snape office; she'd seen it just the previous week. If they could just – she cut herself off, a frisson running through her at the thought of what the consequences would be if they _did_ manage to steal the sword. She hadn't been listening to the voices around her, and now Neville's excited voice rang through the room.

"It's brilliant, Ginny!" he cried. "We'll do it. We just need to set up a diversion, I think and – "

"Yes," Luna said. Her habitually dreamy face was animated, her eyes shining. "I think I can persuade some of the younger Ravenclaws to – "

"No," Hermione said, her voice quiet.

Ginny, Luna, and Neville all looked at her, the excitement draining from their faces in almost perfect unison.

"I'm sorry, Ginny," Hermione said gently. "I love the idea of getting the sword for Harry, and I think he'd love to have it, but I don't think it's – "

"If you say _safe_ , Hermione," Ginny spat, her face growing red, "I'm going to shove my wand up your nose. We have all these people, all this support from the teachers, even the _ghosts_ have approached Nearly Headless Nick to help us, and you want us to – what? Just sit around doing _nothing_? That's not what we're here to –"

"Exactly," Hermione cut her off. "Exactly right, Ginny. That's not what we're here to do. We're not here to pull off stunts that may or may not work out. And that's _not_ what we're doing. We are here to keep everyone safe, to provide resources for that safety, and to push back _carefully_ against – "

"Why can't something like this be careful?" Ginny demanded, her voice going shrill. "Why can't something like this be safe? You said it yourself! We have over one hundred members – we can pull something like this off _easily_. Merlin's balls, we could probably take over the _school_ if we wanted to!"

"And what if something _did_ go wrong?" Hermione's voice was getting louder now too, despite her effort to control it. She missed using her Mind's Eye. "We're not playing around here, Ginny. There may only be three Death Eaters in the school to our one hundred DA members, but what happens when Snape calls in the rest of them? What happens when he calls in the Ministry? What _happens_ – " she paused, and looked around at all three of them in turn – "when Voldemort himself crosses the Entrance Hall to reclaim our school?"

Ginny glared back at Hermione, but it was Luna who spoke first.

"I'm not sure it would escalate to that point," she said softly. "I understand what could happen, but I think we have to consider the positives of what will happen if we were to succeed."

"Exactly," Neville said, nodding vigourously, "if we pull it off, it'll be a huge victory!"

"Victories have fallout," Hermione said. "There _will_ be a reckoning for it, regardless of whether or not we _pull it off_."

Ginny was staring at Hermione with such a concentrated expression of disgust that Hermione took a step back from her friend.

"Listen," Hermione said, looking down. "I think it's time to adjourn for the night. We can all consider this further, if you want, but it's late and we should table it for now. Ok?"

Luna and Neville looked disappointed, and Ginny looked mutinous, but they nodded and headed for the door.

"I can escort Luna," Hermione offered. "You and Ginny can stay here, Neville, and – "

"No," Ginny said, her back to Hermione, her hand already on the doorknob. "Neville and I will take her. That is, unless it's not _safe_."

Hermione sighed, bade her disheartened friends farewell, and proceeded to her room to perform her evening meditation. She had her next meeting with Snape the next day, and she needed to be ready for him.

* * *

A/N 3: Things are gonna heat up again soon...


	12. Chapter 12

A/N 1: Oh how I love Occlumency...

* * *

Chapter 12

Hermione sighed as she opened the door separating her sleeping quarters in the Room of Requirement from the Gryffindor Common Room. She'd just greeted the last shift of DA members, who'd arrived precisely on time to keep the Room open for the evening. The Common Room was almost empty, although Ginny waited for Hermione in an old armchair close to the fire.

"Hi," she said brightly, jumping up out of the armchair. "I thought we could go down to dinner together."

"All right," Hermione said, a little surprised at the girl's genial manner after their frosty conversation the evening before.

They clambered through the portrait hole together, and Ginny kept up continual, gossipy chatter as they descended toward the Great Hall. Hermione felt herself relaxing into the conversation, happy that Ginny seemed to have put the disappointment behind her.

"And you _know_ Michael Corner just _loves_ that kind of thing," the she concluded as they reached the deserted Entrance Hall. She grabbed Hermione's hand, stopping her. "Just a second, 'Mione." Ginny averted her gaze for a moment, as though searching for words, and then went on hesitantly, "I know we don't agree on some things lately, but I want you to know that we are on the same side, even if our ideas turn out to be a bit different."

"I know that, Ginny," Hermione answered, touched by the girl's deferential tone. "And I think we're doing a really good job so far, don't you?"

"Uh huh," Ginny said. "I don't want you questioning my loyalties, that's all."

Ginny looked so uncomfortable then, so different from her usual self, that Hermione enfolded her friend in a hug. Ginny returned the embrace a little hesitantly, shifting about, but then she gave Hermione a squeeze.

"Let's have dinner, shall we?" Hermione said, pulling back.

"Yes, but just one more thing," Ginny said. Hermione raised her eyebrows in question, and Ginny went on, "Are you seeing Snape again tonight?"

Hermione felt herself make a face at the mention of the Headmaster and her meeting with him that evening. She'd barely slept for worrying.

"I have weekly appointments with him," she replied.

"Right," Ginny said, nodding.

She preceded Hermione into the Great Hall, and Hermione felt the worry lodged in the pit of her belly redoubling into something nauseating and filling. She didn't eat a bite of dinner.

* * *

The day had passed uneventfully, with the usual shifts of DA members taking over the Room of Requirement, and Neville, Luna and the other DA lieutenants reporting frequently to Hermione. She'd felt as though she and her friends had created an efficient machine that might just run through the year, providing sanctuary and safety for anyone who needed it. She smiled at the distinctly Muggle metaphor as she made her way to Snape's office. Her smile fell away when she reached the statue of the gargoyle, which stood before her stonily.

 _I can do this_ , she thought firmly to herself, _I have to do this. There is no other choice_.

"Silver Chair," she said to the gargoyle, which jumped aside and revealed the staircase. Putting aside the usual prickle of curiosity at the password – _isn't that another Muggle band of some sort?_ – she mounted the stairs. She went over her chakras as she did so, rapidly acknowledging each one, and sending white light down through her crown chakra to illuminate the others.

 _I am fine,_ she thought firmly, _I will do this_.

She knocked at the door, which opened immediately to reveal Professor Snape at his desk, quill scratching, greasy hair falling to obscure his face. Hermione said nothing, but looked up at the empty portraits of the previous headmasters. It was unsettling, she decided, that he dismissed them during these lessons. Impatience grew within her as the silence stretched on – the least he could do would be to greet her. But he wrote on.

"Why do you send them away, then?" she asked the air, unable to stay silent any longer. Her voice rang out in the circular chamber, and now that's she'd begun, Hermione continued, "The portraits, I mean. Why do you send them away during our…"

She trailed off, uncomfortable. The scratching quill paused. Snape inhaled sharply before looking up at her. He looked terrible, and Hermione had to fight the urge to take a step back from him. The darkness of his gaze matched the darkening circles beneath his eyes. His sallow skin looked paler than usual, and his jaw clenched as he took in the sight of her standing before his desk, hands on her hips, daring him to bring whatever this was between the two of them to a start.

"I owe you no explanations, Miss Granger," the reply came at last, accompanied by a curled lip.

He cleared his desk with brisk movements, and then waved his wand. Hermione felt panic suffuse her chest, suddenly certain that he would initiate Legilimency without warning, but he just scowled at her. The chairs, spindly tables, and other furniture moved to stand against the circular walls, clearing the space in the middle of the room.

"Sit down, Miss Granger," he said, indicating the chair he had left for her, and taking a seat for himself. It was hard to meet his eyes now, and so she looked down at the clasped hands in her lap. They hardly seemed to belong to her, with their black ink stains and whitened knuckles. Snape cleared his throat, and she had to look at him instead.

"How are you?" he asked.

Hermione had an answer for him this time.

"Better." He raised his eyebrows in question, and she elaborated. "I've been walking again, and the book you lent me on chakras has helped me sort through my energies a bit. I've read it properly, as you instructed, and I've been practicing some of the exercises to some effect."

"We'll soon see, won't we?" He sneered slightly. "I will perform the same examination as last week, and we will carry on from there."

Hermione felt herself redden, remembering how it felt to have him examine her, but she met his gaze firmly. He was different this week, somehow… he was still calm, still in what she considered to be his professor mode, but she could see his exhaustion and his impatience today. But he needn't take his bad mood out on her.

"Whenever you're ready, _Professor_ ," she said, with an insolence she didn't quite feel.

He pursed his lips, and raised his wand. Hermione quashed her nervousness and met his eyes. It was much the same as the previous time, although Snape withdrew even more quickly, leaving Hermione to reel in her chair. He hadn't prodded into the mass of emptiness at the back of her Mind's Eye, but she had felt him do a brief sweep. He traced his thin upper lip with the tip of one long white finger, eyes half-closed. Hermione lost patience.

"Well?"

His eyes snapped to hers.

"I am thinking of what I have learned, Miss Granger. It is a process called _consideration_."

Hermione felt herself almost swell with indignation, which was quickly punctured by a look from Snape.

"Impatience does not suit the Occlumens, Granger," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Nevertheless, I will indulge yours. Your Mind's Eye is nearly the same as it was last week, although the examination tonight did not immediately show the same obvious damage as before. The measures you have taken have been moderately successful thus far."

"Oh. Ok, then," Hermione said, realising that he had _almost_ praised her… if she discounted the insulting preface to his statement. "What's next?"

Next was a lecture. Snape reviewed the Sentinella material, glaring her into silence when she attempted to ask questions, and then he went over other Occlumency techniques he seemed to have developed himself.

"It is an obscure branch of magic," he said, winding down. "As such, there are very few volumes concerned only with Occlumency. You are more likely to find useful material in tangentially-related books, one of which I will lend you at the end of this evening's lesson." He gave her a searching look and then sighed. "Ask your questions now, girl."

She asked and, like last time, he answered. It took time, and eventually Snape peered over his shoulder at the clock above the mantelpiece.

"It is getting late," he said, "and so we will move on to the practical portion of this lesson."

Hermione felt herself go pale. Snape's eyes bored into her own, and he smirked slightly.

"No need to look so worried, Granger. I will demonstrate how you can employ some of Sentinella's methods, and then you will have a chance to do so as well."

He was good to his word: he bade Hermione to perform the spell, and she followed his instructions to sift through the memories within his cool, subtle Mind's Eye, peering into the various pools and attempting to fall into them – only then could she see their full contents. But Snape _shifted_ the Mind's Eye around her, so that she kept stumbling forward into nothing, never getting a handle on what she tried to see. Finally, she withdrew.

"That was…" Hermione trailed off, running a hand through her hair absently. "That was _frustrating_."

"Indeed? I imagine it must be to one who is used to demanding and receiving information on a continual basis."

She glared at him.

"Actually, I'm one who is used to _scouring_ for information," Hermione replied acidly, thinking of the countless time she'd done so in the library. "What was that…" she gestured vaguely, "that _movement_ you managed?"

"I was employing the links Sentinella discusses. I have a structure in place to carry a Legilimens from one memory to another continually during an attack. This prevents the attacker from seeing complete memories. It is a basic technique, and one that will not work with a truly experienced or determined Legilimens. If I may demonstrate?"

Hermione felt a swoop in her stomach. She nodded.

"Create random links this time, Miss Granger," he said softly. "I will not be pushing hard at all. You will create a more complex network as homework."

She nodded again, and he began the spell.

Hermione's Mind's Eye came up immediately, but disappeared quickly when Snape opened one of the many drawers. Suddenly, Hermione was in an old memory: she sat in a classroom, her wild hair half-tamed into two puffy pigtails, bouncing in her seat while the teacher ignored her. Shame suffused Hermione – _he's watching this_ – and she reached for her Mind's Eye. It came up slowly, with the image of the bouncing girl almost overlaid. She opened a different drawer and grabbed a file. A different memory came up this time, one of Hermione taking a solitary walk through Kent. She felt soothed by the recent memory, but Snape brought up her Mind's Eye again – _how is he doing that?_ – and delved into the same drawer as before. This time, it was a memory of a nine-year-old Hermione sitting on her own at recess, nose in a book, glancing up from time to time to watch the other children run about. Hermione countered that memory with another banal one, and Snape delved – faster this time – back into her childhood. It went like that for a while, until Hermione started tiring, slowing down.

She didn't reel when he pulled back this time, but she closed her eyes for a few moments, trying to collect herself.

"Very good." Hermione looked up sharply. Snape gazed back steadily. "Yes, Granger, I am capable of praising your abilities." He looked down at his fingernails nonchalantly as he continued, "You demonstrated a facility for countering potentially sensitive memories with innocuous ones you have on hand. It was well done, before you began to tire."

"I – th-thank you," she stuttered.

He nodded.

"Next time, I also suggest that you attempt to dismiss me entirely from your mind, especially when your energy begins to flag. Although taking a Legilimens on a wild goose chase can be a good strategy, it backfires when the Occlumens wearies."

"But you haven't told me how to – "

A rumble beneath their feet – and an explosion rocked the castle, sending Hermione tumbling to the floor. A ringing in her ears, dust falling from the ceiling, and Snape kneeling beside her, an arm slung protectively around her shoulders as he muttered a series of incantations. As abruptly as it started, the dust stopped pouring from the ceiling. Hogwarts was silent once more.

The dark man made to pull Hermione to a sitting position by the shoulders, but Hermione frowned and pushed his hands away.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm – I'm fine." She looked herself over. She was covered in dust and grit, but fine. "What _was_ that?"

"I am not sure." He was on his feet and crossing the circular room to peer out one of the windows. "But you will remain here while I deal with it."

"What? No!" She was on her feet, too, already running scenarios in her mind. The DA would know to batten down in their Common Rooms, of course, but she worried about the other students. Her mind flashed to Harry and Ron as well –

" _Yes_ ," Snape hissed, glaring over his shoulder at her. "I will expect to find you in precisely _that spot_ when I return. We do not know what has happened, Miss Granger, and I will not have you endangering yourself in a demonstration of Gryffindor stupidity."

He swept from the room before she could reply, and Hermione stamped her foot before she could stop herself.

"Really," a voice said from behind her.

Hermione started and turned around. The previous headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts had been restored to their frames, and were all staring down at her. The speaker, she saw, was an elderly man whom she did not recognise. Hermione looked around the circle of portraits until she spotted Dumbledore, who gave her a small, sad smile.

"Please sir," she said, approaching the picture. "Can you tell me what's happening?"

He shook his head slightly, but another portrait – this one of a witch with iron-grey hair – snorted.

"Come now, Albus. The girl has a right to know."

"Dilys," Dumbledore replied, glancing at the witch, who scowled, "you know very well that Miss Granger is safe as long as she is in this office. She should not be given any inducement to leave."

Hermione felt a wave of anger overtake her, and then she remembered the Map – of course! She reached into the hidden pocket at her waist. It was empty.

"What?" she cried out, feeling through her other pockets, in her sleeves, before attacking her backpack. _No… I've never put it in here…_

"And now look, Dumbledore," a snide voice said from above her, "you've driven the girl mad with anxiety."

"Shut _UP_!" Hermione shouted, and all of the portraits stared at her. The Map. The Map. She'd had it this morning when she'd left the Room of Requirement, and she hadn't needed to look at it this evening – _Ginny_. She rounded on the portraits. "Tell me what is going on, _now_ , or I will leave this office immediately."

A murmur ran through the circle of portraits, and Hermione turned away in disgust. Map or no, she would find Ginny and… what? Hermione glanced at where the sword of Gryffindor sat glinting in its case. Would Ginny – and Neville and Luna, if she'd managed to recruit them – be on her way up here to retrieve the sword? _Should I wait for her, just like Snape instructed? Or should I head her off?_

"Ginevra Weasley performed a superb Reductor curse in the Great Hall six minutes ago. She demolished one side of the staircase and caved in part of the ceiling. There is extensive damage. To my knowledge, she meant to create a diversion for the professors Carrow and Headmaster Snape."

Hermione stared up at Dumbledore, but he'd stopped speaking.

"It worked perfectly," the one he'd called Dilys took up the story, "but the Carrows headed your friends off in the Entrance Hall too quickly for them to – "

Hermione had already turned away. If her friends were in trouble – regardless of what Ginny had done – she would help them. She disregarded the protests arising behind her, and marched out of Snape's office.

* * *

A/N 2: Cliffhanger! *runs off cackling madly*


	13. Chapter 13

A/N 1: And now, let's deepen things a bit, shall we?

* * *

Chapter 13

Hermione navigated the halls in half a panic. _The Entrance Hall_ , she kept saying to herself in a litany, _they'll be somewhere near the Entrance Hall_. She turned sharply and ran down a set of stairs –

"Careful, idiot girl!" a voice snapped from the wall beside her. "Unless you want to spend the evening having your leg bones repaired in the Hospital Wing."

Hermione almost fell down the stairs in surprise. Phineas Nigellus smirked at her from a landscape painting, and she jumped the trick step she'd completely forgotten in her haste.

"Do you know where they are?" she gasped as she continued – Phineas's dark shape followed alongside her through portraits as she passed them.

"I do not," he answered. "And you had best take your bleeding-heart Gryffindor self back to the Headmaster's Office."

Hermione ignored him and carried on. _Almost there, almost there._ At the hallway adjacent to the grand staircase leading into the Entrance Hall, she paused; if she continued this way, she would be completely visible as she descended. Dumbledore had also said that part of the staircase had been destroyed –

"The passage on your left, behind the tapestry of Wendelin the Weird. You will find a small staircase leading down and into a broom cupboard adjacent to the Entrance Hall."

"Thank you," she breathed to the portrait, which rolled his eyes at her.

"I will await you in the Entrance Hall – there are, of course, no portraits in the broom cupboard."

A thought hit Hermione abruptly.

"No!" she said, and Phineas Nigellus frowned at her tone. "No, would you please go to the Hufflepuff Common Room instead? Find Ernie Macmillan and tell him 'Code word Pied Piper.'"

"And _what_ will that accomplish?"

"He'll evacuate the DA to the Room of Requirement. The DA faculty allies will supervise, and then seal everything off."

To her surprise, the sharp little man disappeared from his portrait without another word. She refused to think over the implications of that for the moment – _he knows… he must know about the DA, but does that mean..._

Hermione followed his instructions in her turn, taking the dim, dusty staircase down. It was longer than she would have thought, winding down in a rickety wooden spiral, and almost completely dark at the bottom. Hermione stepped carefully around the mops, buckets, and brooms piled haphazardly in the small space. Voices permeated the thick wood door, but just barely. She pressed her ear to it, wand at the ready should she hear her friends' voices in distress. It was the loathsome voice of Amycus Carrow that spoke.

" – the little slag. She Reducted the bloody Entrance Hall and almost crushed Alecto here. When I find them again, they'll be begging for – "

"Alecto, have you anything to contribute?" said a different, eerily calm voice. "Do you know where the girl has gone?"

"There was others with her, Snape," Alecto Carrow answered in her shrill voice. "That Longbottom what's always making trouble – and the Ravenclaw girl, the barmpot one."

"And we found this – this _thing_ the Weasley chit dropped."

"Hand it over," Snape's voice sharpened.

"What is – "

The question was cut off by a loud thump, and then a cry from Alecto. Another thump followed swiftly.

" _Obliviate_ ," came Snape's voice, softly through the door.

Hermione stood still, hands over her mouth, eyes wide in the dark. _What is he doing? Did he just…_

A shuffling from outside the door, like the rustling of paper, and then a drawn-out sigh. She held her breath as footsteps – Snape's, if she was right that he had felled the other Death Eaters – came slowly across the floor, and stopped parallel to where Hermione stood trembling.

"Hide and seek is unbecoming at your age, Miss Granger."

She gasped. The door swung open. The dark man stood before her, outlined in the uneven light of the damaged Entrance Hall. The Carrow siblings lay prone beyond him, and Hermione confirmed for herself that her friends were nowhere in sight.

"Do come along," Snape hissed, and Hermione looked up into his livid face and glinting eyes. Something dropped in the pit of her stomach. She took an unconscious step back into the cupboard. His hand snaked out and grasped her wrist. "I do _not_ have time for childish histrionics." He stepped forward, into the small space. "You will accompany me to my office, into which your ridiculous cohorts have broken, and where you will _all_ answer for this evening's insanity."

Snape propelled her back up the hidden staircase, and then through the castle by the same route she'd taken downstairs. Hermione tried to sort through her panic and confusion. She had to come up with _something_ to help her friends. She checked her Mind's Eye, which was up and functioning, but she couldn't help returning again and again to the two loud thumps she'd heard through the door. _And the Memory Charm. Why did he cast a Memory Charm?_ To distract herself, she returned to what she did best when confronted with this man's mercurial place in this world.

"H-ow do you know?" she demanded, almost out of breath from trying to keep up with Snape's quick pace. "How do you know they are in your office?"

Snape glared down at her without breaking stride before waving something in front of her face. _The Map_. She tripped. Had it not been for his firm grip on her upper arm she would have fallen.

"Do try and keep your feet, Granger."

They'd arrived at the Gargoyle. Hermione watched numbly as Snape folded the map and tucked it into an inner pocket of his robes. He gave the password, nudged Hermione onto the moving staircase ahead of him, and a moment later they burst into his office.

The sight of her three friends, mouths agape, Neville perched on a spindly table and reaching up to retrieve the sword from its mounting on the wall, would have been comical – _hilarious_ – in other circumstances. Now, however, Hermione could only stare at them in mirrored horror as Snape stepped forward deliberately, his wand raised.

"And _what_ have we here?" he intoned silkily as he took in the tableau. "Longbottom, dismount from that table before it collapses beneath you. Weasley, sit down in that chair at once, and put your wand away – you have already lost this fight. Miss Lovegood, replace the objects that have been knocked to the floor." He pulled Hermione to stand before him as well, and she raised her chin defiantly. "Miss Granger. _Explain_."

Hermione glanced behind her at her friends. Luna gazed back steadily and shrugged her shoulders. Neville, sporting a brilliantly bloodied nose and two black eyes from his run-in with the Carrows, looked away. But Ginny… Ginny glared right back at her with a blazing look that made Hermione want to slap – or hug – her friend, she wasn't sure which.

"What's to explain?" Hermione answered at last, turning to face Snape once more. "We made a plan to take the sword from your office. Things went a little wrong, obviously."

" _You_ formulated this plan?"

" _NO_ ," a loud voice cried. Ginny had stood up once more. "No. _I_ made the plan. Hermione had no idea about it until… well, I guess until _you_ did." The younger girl gave Snape a sneer worthy of any he himself had ever bestowed. "She wasn't interested in helping us get the sword, so we went behind her back."

"I see –"

"She's _lying_ ," Hermione said, pushing all the conviction she had ever felt into her voice. She didn't even need her Mind's Eye right now. The lies came to her as though she'd rehearsed them, as they had when she had been in another office years before, confronting another dubious Head of Hogwarts. "I told you, Ginny, that we stick together no matter what – even if things go wrong."

" _No_ ," Ginny looked stricken now, her face crumpling, tears standing in her eyes. "No, 'Mione, don't do this."

Snape had been watching Ginny and the other two with interest, tracking their reactions to this exchange. Hermione leaned forward and brushed her hand against his. Black eyes snapped to her face at once, and she felt in her _bones_ that what she was about to say was true. She held his hand loosely, awkwardly, in her own, pushing the conviction into his eyes, into his _skin_ with hers. She felt a dark, rising tide of response – _his magic?_ – and suppressed a shiver before pressing on.

"It's my fault, sir. It was all my idea. The punishment should fall on me."

He studied her for a moment, and Hermione felt the weight of his eyes on hers – _Legilimency_ , she thought briefly – before he looked away, pulling his hand out of hers and running it briefly through his black hair.

"Mr. Longbottom," he said, "you and Miss Weasley will escort Miss Lovegood to her Common Room. You will then retire to the Gryffindor dormitory. You will all have your first detention _of many_ at seven o'clock tomorrow evening with Hagrid. Dismissed."

Neville glanced at Hermione, who shook her head. He beckoned to Luna and turned to leave, but Ginny stood her ground, glaring at Snape with open hostility. The air around her seemed to shimmer with the force of her anger.

"And what about Hermione?" she demanded.

"I will see to Miss Granger here and now," Snape said smoothly. He stepped forward so that he towered over Ginny. "Get going, Miss Weasley, before you make _her_ punishment any worse."

Ginny glanced at Hermione, her eyes still blazing, unshed tears making them brighter.

"Go," Hermione said, infusing her voice with meaning. "You'll need to call off the Piper."

Ginny nodded, grasping the code word immediately, and then the three of them left in single file. The door closed behind them and, spine straight, shoulders back, Hermione turned back to Snape. How would he punish her for this? Would he feel betrayed? Would – _oh God_ – would her parents pay the price for this evening's _insanity_ , as he had called it? But no… if he did that their agreement would be void…

"Your friend is a poor liar," he said smoothly, before waving to one of the chairs in front of his desk. "Do be seated, Miss Granger."

Hermione took her usual seat. Ginny _was_ a bad liar, it was true, and for that she felt a mixture of regret and profound relief. Snape sat across from her, his knees almost touching hers. He leaned forward to place his elbows on his thighs, and Hermione felt herself draw back a little. The obvious exhaustion she'd noted previously during their lesson had been replaced by cool ferocity. This close to, the set of his jaw, the thin lips, the dark circles beneath his eyes, the hollows of his cheeks – it all added up to a man who might be capable of anything on a night like tonight.

 _It's always the same with him_ , Hermione thought, dropping her eyes to the floor. _I think I've won, just for a moment, and then_ –

"You, however, are an _excellent_ liar," the dark man said, putting paid to the running commentary in her mind.

 _He's already won this staring contest, hasn't he? He's already won_ all _of this_. And yet she still felt the weight of his gaze, of the intentions behind it, shelved as carefully as any item in her own Mind's Eye. His presence wrapped around her, something heavy and choking, and she couldn't help it: she looked at him. His face had softened, the lines lighter than they'd been a moment before.

"One can only admire it."

She couldn't help it. As always, she responded to him. She played into his hand. She let herself be led by the elbow, the shoulder, the throat, to precisely where he stood to execute his perfectly laid plans.

"Admire what?" her voice came out low, the conviction of earlier sucked out with the exit of her friends, with the proximity of this man, alone once more with her in this room. She glanced behind him and confirmed that the portraits were – of course – empty.

"The excellence with which you alter the truth, Miss Granger. You can _bend_ reality with such a silver tongue, did you know?"

"What do you mean?" she whispered, unable to look away this time.

He was still close to her and she felt a certainty in her gut that eye contact was, with this man, tantamount to physical touch. She felt an urge – preposterous at a moment such as this – to reach out, to place her hand against his gaunt cheek, to feel his stubble against her palm, to create a connection that might, like a blown fuse, cancel out the one he held with her now.

"You hear, Granger, but you do not _listen_. I have told you in clear, precise diction precisely what I _mean_."

"I – I…" Her voice dropped off, like something weak and dying. Hermione straightened with an effort and glared at him. "Just get on with it, Snape."

"With what, exactly?"

"My punishment."

He leaned back and glanced down at his fingernails in a gesture that felt intimately familiar.

"Perhaps you are too accustomed to Gryffindor authority figures. Understandable, given the infestation Hogwarts has seen over the last years." He looked back at her, a grim smile spreading over his face. "Slytherins are never punished by their Head of House for lying. They are, however, reprimanded for being caught doing so by the wrong person. You, Miss Granger, have been caught by the _right_ person."

Hermione replayed their conversation with lightening speed. _Fuck…_

"I – "

He cut her off with a motion of his hand.

"You were protecting your errant friends – your _lieutenants_ – from their own stupidity. It is an action to be admired particularly since it was, as I said previously, well done." He grinned at her, his eyes horribly cold, the expression incongruous on his pale visage. "You have earned plenty of praise from me this evening, have you not, Granger? I had best stop now, or risk inflating that bushy head of yours beyond all proportion."

Her mouth was open – gaping – she knew, but she couldn't seem to stop. He continued to regard her, still grinning that horrid grin, and Hermione felt herself redden.

"That's it then?" She felt breathless, but she refused to succumb to the relief waiting just below the knots in her belly. No relief could come when this man sat before her, coiled like a snake. "Detention with Hagrid for my friends, and… that's it?"

At last, the expression on his face neutralised. He steepled his fingers, and leaned back in his chair. He was suddenly calm, _normal_.

 _He's so controlled_ , she found herself thinking. _Always. Just when I think he might lose it, he leans back and –_

"The situation has been contained for this evening. Your friends will be punished, and the instructions I gave you at the start of the year have been fulfilled on your part. I am satisfied with the situation." He glanced up at the sword on the wall. " _That_ , of course, will be removed from this office. And I advise that you pull rank on the three dunderheads who almost upended our school this evening."

Hermione nodded, and shifted. It was late, and she wished to leave Snape and his abruptly closed presence, his sudden reticence. But she remembered something from earlier, and she couldn't help pushing her luck.

"And what about the Carrows?" she blurted.

His eyes snapped to hers, and her pulse quickened.

"What _about_ them?"

And, just like that, the room was too close, the breath seizing in her chest. _Calm down, damn it. Stop reacting to him._ The strangest part was… she almost enjoyed it, this intensity, this tension. There was something almost addictive here, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. And so she steeled herself, and asked her question.

"I heard you knock them out and Obliviate them. Why?"

"As I told both you and Mr. Malfoy at the start of the year, all detentions associated with you are to be with Professor Hagrid. I simply ensured that that would remain a standard despite tonight's events."

"But you can't – I mean, they're supposed to be in charge of all – "

"And _what_ , Miss Granger, would happen if I had allowed them to deal with this particular situation? What do you think they would do, given how far your little _friends_ escalated things?" He leaned forward once more, and grasped her chin in his hand, forcing her to maintain eye contact as she tried to look away. His black eyes were as earnest as she had ever seen them, the expression startling in its honesty. She felt the same dark connection as when he'd grasped her hand, flowing from his skin and into her own. Her stomach leapt. "This is _my_ school. And I have been given the authority to run it as I see fit. Anyone – and I mean _any_ one who threatens the safety of my students will be dealt with as I see fit."

He stood abruptly, and Hermione jumped to her feet. Snape stared down his nose at her for a long moment. She awaited his dismissal, but he continued to regard her. Finally, he reached into an inner pocket of his robes. Hermione immediately stiffened and –

He grabbed her wrist in an iron grip.

"I am not going to curse you, girl." He released her wand arm, and, for the second time, waved the Marauder's Map in front of her. "Here." He thrust it into her hand. "Now get out of my sight."

* * *

A/N 2: Tell me what you think of this shifting, strange dynamic ;)


	14. Chapter 14

A/N 1: I'm so sorry I didn't get this up over the weekend. Normally when I update I just grab the next chapter, upload it, give it a final edit, and then post it. This time I found a massive, problematic, terrifying plot-hole when I tried to do my final edit. I couldn't sit down to overhaul this chapter until tonight, and it's not as polished as I normally like, but it's readable, and I wanted to post ASAP. Hopefully I can have Chapter 15 up at the usual time (Sunday evening NZ time), but it might be slightly delayed to early next week because it'll need a correspondingly heavier edit than usual. I'll do my best, my dears. You all deserve it.

A/N 2: I ADORED your responses to the last chapter. You guys give me warm and fuzzies.

* * *

Chapter 14

Autumn swept over the castle in cold winds from the north and a darkness that crept over the grounds as the sun rose later and set earlier every day. The castle residents braced themselves for winter. Hermione, most of the teachers, and the DA fortified themselves as the Carrows attempted to increase their influence over the castle by heightening their cruelty, tracking DA members, and recruiting an enthusiastic, sadistic Filch.

Luna Lovegood countered this last blow by proposing something outlandish: they recruited Peeves the Poltergeist as an honourary DA member, much to the chagrin of Nearly Headless Nick and the other ghosts, who had been increasingly helpful to the insurgents throughout the term. Peeves proved a formidable counterweight to Filch; he followed the latter incessantly through the castle, creating a constant warning of rude noises, hand gestures, and cackled songs to anyone who might otherwise have been caught by the caretaker.

Nonetheless, the Carrows gained ground. Although the vigilant teachers, the determined DA, the castle ghosts and portraits, and the obnoxious poltergeist compromised the Carrows's authority throughout the castle, their classes were scenes of horror, where disobedient students were made to perform abominable magic on one another, where obvious bigotry and ignorance prevailed, and where students were punished severely, frequently and so immediately that interference was impossible. This was where the DA lost their ground, and Hermione despaired as more and more DA members turned up to their weekly meetings with bruises, curse scars, and hollow, horrified eyes. Neville, an especially vocal opponent to the Carrows, continually appeared battered and bruised, but it was to him that the younger students turned after they'd been forced to commit horrors, or after they'd been on the receiving end of the same – he became the morale booster of the DA, and Hermione couldn't reprimand him for his outright defiance of the Carrows, despite her earlier orders.

Hermione and Ginny had reconciled after the nearly disastrous episode at the end of September. After the exhausting – yet oddly stimulating – tête-a-tête with Snape, Hermione had dragged herself back through the castle to the Room of Requirement. She'd expected to find Parvati Patil keeping the Room open for her as planned, but it was Ginny who stood on the other side of the door. Hermione felt her brows rise, but Ginny rushed forward and gave her a hard hug. Hermione did not return it.

"The last time you did that, you stole the Map out of my pocket," she said quietly, and Ginny pulled back as quickly as she'd come forward.

"I know," she answered simply. Her eyes scanned up and down Hermione's body, as if looking for marks of injury. "Did Snape hurt you?"

"No. There wasn't really any punishment. He mostly just… reiterated what I already knew." Hermione thought of her agreement with Snape – of the lessons together – and shuddered to recontextualize them as punishment.

"Right," Ginny sighed. Then she looked away, over Hermione's shoulder at the list of DA members tacked to the wall, and then, finally, down at her own shoes. "I… I'm sorry."

"Sorry it didn't work out the way you wanted? Yes, I'm sure you are."

Ginny looked up at her suddenly, warily.

"You're not angry." It wasn't a question.

"No."

"But… you – you should be. You realise that, right?"

Hermione just shrugged. She had been angry – _furious_ when she'd first realised that Ginny had stolen the Map and endangered them all, but her encounter with Snape had sapped most of the emotion from her. Now she felt empty, and tired.

"I…" Ginny drew herself up, and met Hermione's eyes squarely, "I understand if you want my resignation from the DA."

"Why on earth would I want that?"

"I disobeyed you. And… I did something that could have had some bad consequences for you. And for Neville and Luna, too."

"Yes, and for everyone in this school. So? I should have seen it coming."

Ginny's face reddened, and she looked back down at her shoes again.

"It won't happen again."

"No, I don't think it will. Snape is removing the sword from his office."

"No! I mean I won't go behind your back like that again. Ever. I swear it."

Hermione looked at her friend, at the strained line of her shoulders, the blazing brown eyes, the beautiful mane of fiery hair. She stepped forward, smiled slightly, and leaned her forehead against Ginny's shoulder.

"'Mione?" the girl sounded startled. "Are you sure you're ok? Are you sure that Snape didn't – "

"No, I'm fine. I just… I'm so tired of all of this and… it's only just the beginning, isn't it?"

Ginny pulled away from Hermione and peered closely into her face. Hermione gave her what felt like the bleakest, saddest smile she'd ever worn. To her surprise, Ginny's eyes filled with tears for the second time that night, and her friend gathered her into a fierce hug. This time, Hermione hugged her back.

"I'm so sorry, 'Mione."

"It's alright, Ginny. It's alright."

Ginny had been chagrined for some time over it. Despite the conflict they'd created, her efforts had served to galvanise the DA further, as Hermione gently pointed out later on in October. She didn't tell her friends that Snape had Obliviated the Carrows, nor that he had returned the Map to her; she had placed a jinx on it should any other enemies – or allies – attempt to steal it. Hermione felt more alone than ever; she trusted her "lieutenants," as Snape had called them, but she now was forced to recognise the limitations of that trust. Hermione's word had become law in the DA, much to her own discomfort, and although Ginny still occasionally grumbled about their situation, she had entirely redirected her energies toward outsmarting the Carrows and protecting her fellow students.

Harry and Ron were another challenge for Hermione, despite her distance from them. Although they had been cheered by the sword debacle, notwithstanding Hermione's viewpoints on it, they had all grown despondent when they related the fact that the sword, if the boys' overheard conversation between Griphook, Ted Tonks, and Dean Thomas was correct, was a fake anyway. They had run into wall after wall on the Horcrux front, and after Harry confessed that he and Ron had begun arguing more and more, Hermione demanded point-blank that they stop taking turns wearing the locket. Harry had been reluctant, but agreed to keep it in the moleskin pouch Hagrid had given him. They fought less now, without the constant influence of the evil object, but they had come no further in their enormous undertaking.

Hermione took to reporting the DA's victories to them every chance she had, and the boys drew obvious comfort from their faraway allies. The three of them continued to brainstorm all possibilities – Harry kept coming back to Godric's Hollow, despite Hermione's absolute disagreement, and she herself scoured The Tales of Beedle the Bard, but to no avail. They were getting nowhere. Their written discussions were roundabout, pointless affairs that Hermione started dreading, despite her longing to see her friends.

"It's horrible. You have no idea. To run around like mad everywhere and get nowhere."

"I know, Ron, I know. It's kind of similar here, believe it or not. The DA can only do so much to – "

"At least you have decent food to eat! We're lucky to get one crap meal a day! I –"

The text cut off, and Hermione imagined Ron running his hands angrily through his hair, standing it on end. Harry's writing appeared on the parchment next.

"How's the greasy git doing, then? Still holding the place hostage?"

Hermione glared at Harry's writing, hoping that somehow her magic could cross the distance between them and smack him upside the back of the head.

"He's not holding anything hostage," she wrote out savagely, angry that he'd almost divulged the little he knew of her secret arrangement with Snape in front of Ron. "He's running the school almost like normal, really. It's the Carrows and Filch who give us the most trouble, and who keep hurting the students."

"So bad they make SNAPE look cuddly then?" Ron wrote. Hermione sighed.

She changed the subject back to Horcruxes, and sighed when Harry brought up Godric's Hollow yet again.

And so it went. They wrote in circles, whittling away at the problem without ever seeing its true shape, and meanwhile Hermione herself was being unravelled, slowly, one step and one lesson at a time. Snape had kept to his word in all respects: he'd taught her all the rudiments of Occlumency within their first month or so of lessons, and now he tested her harshly as he conveyed the finer points of the art. It was hard to defend her mind from his, especially as he continually revealed himself to be quicker and slicker in his offences than she could ever be in her defences. She held fast to her Intercision blade, sharpening it whenever she could, and stashing the most sensitive memories ever more securely behind others.

Despite her disadvantage in their arrangement, Hermione stayed true to her nature: she pushed things farther in her Occlumency studies than Snape ever demanded, and she had begun not just to defend herself, but to fight _back_. Whenever he loosened his psychic grip on her, whenever she felt him tiring, whenever she _could_ , Hermione either blasted Snape from her Mind's Eye, or reversed the attack so that she saw flashes of _his_ memories instead. He'd taken it in stride, had even praised her for one particularly good defense one night, but Hermione ended up pushing even further.

He'd seemed more tired than usual that night, and as she defended herself, Hermione searched for an opening. She found it at last – a loosening of his attack as he viewed one of her deeper memories – and she dove into his mind as readily as he had torn into hers. There, she found herself in the muddy, murky plane of his Mind's Eye, and she plunged into the first memory she came to, surprised to see it open and unguarded. Hermione found herself watching a young boy with greasy black hair sitting at a tiny desk in a small, dingy room. She heard sounds coming through the door: raised voices and – suddenly – a loud crash, the sound of breaking crockery, and a woman's abbreviated scream. Hermione watched this Snape's young face as he stared at the door. _He can't be more than thirteen_ , she thought, watching as his high, hollow cheeks reddened slightly, his dark brows coming down over his black eyes in obvious, fierce anger. She stepped forward to examine the boy, but the memory shifted around her and dissolved so that she was hurtling back – mind and body together – until she landed on the floor of the real Snape's office.

He stood above her, tall and powerful, staring down his long nose and into her eyes, and Hermione had to look away. She started to clamber to her feet, but stopped when the dark man reached down and held out a hand. Hermione looked into his eyes – opaque, expressionless – and took his hand. It was cool around hers as he pulled her gently to her feet. He let go of her immediately.

"I –" she stuttered to a stop, unsure, before starting again, "I'm s-"

"Do _not_ apologise," he snapped. He looked away and ran a hand through his greasy hair. "You… you did precisely what you should have done. It simply worked better than either of us expected."

Hermione nodded, but felt puzzled nonetheless. Snape waved his wand, and their usual chairs arranged themselves in the middle of the room. He nodded to her, and she sat down across from him.

"We have discussed the reversal of Legilimency in some detail," he began in his Potions Master voice, "and we have gone over various ways that attacks can be deflected. We have not, however, discussed what occurred a moment ago."

He looked at her, and Hermione almost smiled at the somewhat ironic expectation in his eyes. She took the bait: "So, what was it that occurred a moment ago?"

"It is something I have yet to find in the literature, but which I have experienced once before. I call it inversion. What happens, Granger, when an attack is reversed?"

"If the Legilimens either fails to protect from magical intervention, or loses his psychic grip on the Occlumens, the attack will reverse naturally and immediately unless one of the two has interrupted the psychic exchange. The Occlumens will then see a stream of memories," she reeled off quickly.

"Textbook as always." He sneered slightly. "Now, what happened just now between you and I?"

"It…" Hermione thought for a moment, closing her eyes, trying to remember what it had felt like, "I was able to access your Mind's Eye itself, instead of seeing a stream of memories. Is that the difference?"

"Partly. What kind of memory had I been observing in your mind?"

Hermione felt herself flush slightly.

"It was… I was watching Ron and Harry fighting during Fourth Year."

"And at that time you felt…?"

"I felt… unhappy. And powerless. And angry. They were being so stupid, and so –" she cut herself off, and stared at Snape, who nodded. "And that's what you felt during that memory I saw."

"Correct."

"So that means that inversion is when… when the Occlumens not only reverses the psychic flow, but also gets to the same…" she trailed off, unable to articulate it.

"To the same emotional and psychic level," Snape finished.

His eyes were piercing now, but Hermione couldn't seem to look away.

"Why isn't it in the books you lent me? Why isn't it – "

"Because it is not in the literature." He shifted slightly. "Not anywhere I have looked, anyway."

"So it's rare."

"Legitimate texts on psychic exchange are rare. Decent Occlumency texts are rarer still. We can say that inversion is rare, but that would be conjecture. As I have mentioned before, there is no exhaustive, authoritative text on this branch of magic. There are, therefore, many undiscovered aspects of the practice. This might be one of those, or it might be something that occurs more often but has not yet been remarked upon."

"And you've had this happen before," Hermione said, her usual curiosity redoubling. "Why did it happen? Who was it with? Did they have the same kind of – "

He held a hand up to forestall her.

"I will not disclose details of that past incident. It was years ago… I do not wish to –"

He looked away, frowning, his hands weaving together in his lap, the knuckles white. Hermione thought briefly – insanely – of reaching out and enclosing his long hands in her own, in bridging the space between them.

"Ok," she said instead. "That's ok. You don't have to tell me." She took a deep breath, half-frustrated, half-intrigued, and fully wishing she could ask the dozen probing, impertinent questions flitting through her mind. She settled on the least offensive one: "Will it happen again?"

"I do not know," he answered, still looking down at his hands. He raised one shoulder in half a shrug. "I suspect so. Judging on my singular previous experience, it seems to occur when there is some… affinity, for lack of a better word, between Occlumens and Legilimens."

"Ok." Hermione nodded, before stopping herself, realising that she had been nodding like a ninny for half of this uncomfortable conversation. "Does this mean that you… that you will have to be more careful when you – I mean, before we…"

"I have precautions in place regardless, Granger," Snape said, his voice sharpening into its usual crisp tones. "Do you think _I_ would come to a lesson unprepared?"

Hermione stared at him, but he still refused to meet her eyes.

"Prepared?" she asked.

But she thought she already knew. Finally, after sighing deeply, he met her eyes and raised his eyebrows, the expression mildly challenging, and entirely guileless.

"You use the Pensieve before our lessons?" Her voice rose to a shrill note as she asked it, but she didn't attempt to rein it in.

"Of course I do."

Hermione felt anger overtake her, setting her hair to crackling, her eyes to flashing, and her Mind's Eye into a spiral.

Snape leaned forward, holding her eyes, a small, sad smile curling his mouth.

"Did you actually think this would be a fair fight, Granger?"


	15. Chapter 15

A/N 1: Story is all nice and mended, and we'll get back to our same bat-time (same bat-channel) as of this weekend with chapter 16!

* * *

Chapter 15

She'd left without awaiting his dismissal. His eyes had softened after he'd asked his rhetorical, poisonous question, and Hermione had felt herself flush with the shame of knowing that, without meaning or wanting to, or even understanding what she'd done, she'd given him the benefit of the doubt yet again. She'd turned her back on him and strode from his office with as much dignity as she'd had left.

She returned to the Room of Requirement, said a quick goodnight to Lavender, who'd kept it open for her. Upon retiring to her little bedchamber, Hermione sat down and thought things over carefully, feeling that although Snape had shown her a few pieces of the puzzle between them that night, there must be more to the overall picture that she couldn't see. _So much more that he has to hide it_ , she thought to herself, pacing her tiny chamber. She thought of the memory she'd seen that night, of the dark young boy Snape had been, of the shouting and violence she'd heard in the background. _He can't hide everything… not if that memory is still in place. So he has to be selective about what he puts in the Pensieve. He can't just remove every sensitive memory he has_. Hermione smiled grimly to herself. Well, the game might be far from fair, the picture far from clear, but at least now she knew how that game was rigged, and that there was more to the picture to be found.

And so it was decided: if he wanted to continue pushing deeper into her psyche, she would push right back into his, and see what she could behold.

* * *

She did not get far that first time, nor the second time, but recently she'd caught glimpses of Snape's deep past by using the inversion technique whenever she got the chance: Images of a young boy with greasy hair; flashes of fights between a hook-nosed woman and a tall man with angry, forbidding eyes; envy-infused memories of watching a dark-haired young man parade around Hogwarts ( _Harry's father!_ Hermione had realised). He ejected her quickly from these parts of his mind, and Hermione discovered that her forays into Legilimency inversion came with the massive risk of leaving herself open to deeper attacks in return. That meant that his tempting vulnerability when he was deepest in her own memories cut both ways. It was a dangerous game they played, pushing at each other's psyches, discovering deep-seated truths about one another painfully, horribly. He knew what the children in primary school had called her. He saw the horrifying day she'd discovered Slytherin's monster. He knew what her Boggart was. He saw the tears she cried over her endless fights with Harry and Ron over the years. In return, she knew the sad, lonely boy he had been. She saw the abuse his father dealt his mother. She saw his loneliness at Hogwarts. And, once, she glimpsed what might have been his induction to the Death Eaters, where she'd felt an overwhelming wash of _shame_ rise up in him, before he'd quickly turned the tables and plunged back into her. Week by week as the snow built around the castle, as winter seized Hogwarts in its icy grip, each lesson showed her new sides to him, and it all added up to a man who became more puzzling with each revelation, and whom Hermione longed to put together, piece by piece, until he became clearer.

* * *

Hermione was completing the last part of her meditation ritual before that week's lesson, when the door to her little space in the Room of Requirement burst open. Ginny ran inside, wild-eyed.

"'Mione, hurry up! They've taken him in the dungeons!"

Hermione felt herself prick all over with fear. Her first thought was – impossibly – Harry. _But no, it can't_ _be_. She shut off the yammering panic in her mind, and engaged her Mind's Eye quickly. She needed to be calm for this, whatever it was, and there was plenty of calm left over from the ritual she used before her meetings with Snape.

"Slow down, Ginny. Who taken whom to the dungeons?"

"Neville. He did something – I don't know what – in the halls I think, after dinner. And Amycus Carrow dragged him down to the dungeons while Alecto stopped anyone else following. I think he was protecting some first-year Gryffindors he'd been seeing to the Common Room. Gods, Hermione, we have to _do_ something!"

Hermione took a deep breath to calm down once more, to tamp down the panic rising in her chest. She glanced up at the clock above her bed – 8:45.

"Who else knows about this?" she asked.

"No one, I came to you first. Come _on_ , Hermione. Let's rally the DA."

"No," Hermione said, already moving, snatching up her wand.

Ginny glared at her and immediately opened her mouth, doubtless to give Hermione what-for.

"I'm going to send Professor McGonagall a Patronus. She'll know how to deal with this. I don't want any more students involved. Now shut up," she snapped as Ginny drew in a quick breath, "so I can get the full message right the first time."

Hermione had to delve deep for a happy memory – the first time Ron and Harry had sat down beside her in the Great Hall during first year, just after they'd rescued her from the troll – and when the otter appeared, it was as bright and energetic as always. She gave it the message, and it whisked away. Not one minute passed before McGonagall's cat Patronus arrived back.

"I am on my way to the dungeons," it said.

"I have to go now or I'll be late for Snape," Hermione said, pulling on a sweater and side-stepping Ginny. "Professor McGonagall knows I've got to meet him now, so she'll send her next Patronus to you as my second, Ginny." She continued in an undertone, mostly to herself, "And I'll have words with Snape about this, make no mistake. Discipline indeed."

"What good will _that_ do?"

Hermione bit her lip in frustration with herself. She hadn't meant to tell anyone about Snape's interference on behalf of student discipline throughout the year and she'd almost given it away.

"I'm not sure, but I don't think he'll let the Carrows continue with this. You'll notice that you, Neville and Luna were spared torture after your idiocy with the sword of Gryffindor."

That did it – Hermione's reference to Ginny's betrayal earlier that year silenced the redhead, who nodded balefully to Hermione before she ran from the room, verging on late now.

* * *

She raced to the Gargoyle Corridor, and nearly shouted the password, "King Crimson!" and ran to the top of the spiralling staircase. She didn't knock.

"Professor – I need you to –" She cut herself off. The office was empty. She spun around, searching for the dark man.

"Professor Snape left to attend to an emergency in the dungeons," said a calm voice from above. Hermione turned to see the bright blue eyes of Dumbledore's painting twinkling at her. "He asked that you remain here for the time being."

"No," Hermione said, feeling herself reddening with anger. "I can't just stay here! I have to go and help Neville."

Not for the first time, Hermione turned her back on the protesting portraits and marched to the office door. It didn't open. Sighing in frustration, she cast Alohomora. It had no effect. She ran through every other unlocking charm she knew. Finally she turned back to the portraits, her hair crackling with blue sparks.

" _He locked me in here_?"

"He seemed to feel some unease the last time you refused his orders to remain in this office," said Dumbledore. "He has sealed it for the time being."

"Oh, he has, has he?"

Hermione proceeded to blast the door. She tried a Reductor Curse, followed by a severing charm, a fire hex, and every other destructive spell she could think of. After a few minutes she stood before the closed door, panting and frustrated.

"And now you've exhausted yourself you'll have nothing left to fight him with," said a snide voice behind her. "Perhaps that has been his master plan all along. It was quite clever of him, really – Gryffindors are _so_ predictable, nay, Albus?"

Hermione squashed down the panic that Phineas's declaration sent running through her. He was right: she had dealt with the crisis in the dungeons by delegating to Professor McGonagall, and now her priority had to be the lesson coming her way. If she was too weakened or emotional to defend herself…

She sat down in her usual seat before the desk, hitched up and crossed her legs, and concentrated on illuminating and purifying each of her chakras in turn. As she did, she felt the tension leaving her shoulders. She finished that exercise and moved on to gently activating and surveying her Mind's Eye. It looked good – less organized than when she'd first constructed it, but the messiness served to hide a great deal. She checked the Intercision blade, the disconnects between her emotions and her memories, the complex circuitry she'd woven within her mind. It was all there, though a little shaky, reflecting the exhaustion she still felt at her earlier emotional and magical outburst.

"Miss Granger," a deep voice said, somewhere close to her.

She retained the calm, but she couldn't help but flinch at his sudden presence. She opened her eyes. He sat across from her, the same as always. The portraits behind him were empty; the furniture pushed up against the walls. She couldn't say how long she'd sat there, nor how long he'd been with her, and part of her was flustered that she hadn't noticed him. She didn't wait for him to speak.

"How is Neville?" she demanded. "Did Professor McGonagall – "

He held up a hand and she cut herself off. It was then that she saw his face, and shrank back inwardly from the anger there. She had grown used to him after all of these weekly sessions together, where he'd been as close to agreeable as she'd ever seen him despite the combative nature of their psychic exchanges, but now his expression sparked something small and frightened in her chest. She thought of her parents, of Harry and Ron, of the DA, of all the things this man held over her. When he spoke, his voice was low, and dangerous.

"Do we or do we not have an agreement in place regarding how your lieutenants behave within this school?"

"Yes," she answered immediately. "But I need to know, _please_ , is Neville –"

"Longbottom, along with three of the first years who witnessed his altercation with Professor Carrow, is in the hospital wing and will likely remain there well into the weekend."

"Wait – _what_?"

"It seems that your _brave_ friend engaged Professor Carrow after the latter used a minor stinging hex to hurry one of the first years down the corridor. Tell me, is needless duelling with professors the modus operandi you have imposed in your leadership role as Head Girl, or is it more an 'every man for himself' praxis?"

His voice didn't rise during the little speech, but Hermione found herself cowed nonetheless. _Is this true? What on earth was Neville thinking? I've got to_ – she shook herself and focused on Snape once more. Neville was not just her _lieutenant_ , as Snape insisted on calling him – he was a friend. And she would defend him.

"I don't think Neville would act in any way that would further endanger other students –"

"You don't, do you? Perhaps an eye-witness account will modify your thinking." Snape stood and turned away from Hermione. "Phineas!"

Hermione stood too, and nodded to the sharp little man when he appeared in the picture frame a moment later.

"You hissed, Headmaster?"

"Tell Miss Granger precisely what you witnessed in the third-floor corridor earlier this evening."

Phineas Nigellus turned to Hermione and, for once, he didn't sound snide; he delivered his summary of the events in a neutral, almost bored tone. It was precisely as Snape had said, down to the unnecessary but harmless stinging hex, and Neville beginning the fight.

"Thank you, Phineas," Snape said. "That will be all."

The portrait was empty again when Snape turned back to Hermione. Standing close together as they were, he had the advantage of height, but she didn't particularly feel like sitting back down, or like backing down in any other way. Any calm she'd felt had drained away while she listened to Phineas Nigellus's account of the incident, and instead she felt the incandescent rage building from her gut once more. When she looked at Snape, she was met with equal anger, but she refused to be unnerved. So what if he was angry? She had plenty of fury of her own.

"So what is _your_ modus operandi, _Professor_?" she spat. "What do _you_ propose we do when we witness casual violence against our peers? Roll over and let it happen? Participate in the injustice? That's _your_ job."

His nostrils flared, and his glinting eyes turned flat. She saw the warning, and disregarded it.

"Or," she continued acerbically, "maybe you'd like for us all to subscribe to the idea that unjustified, spontaneous petty violence is something to ignore. Oh but _wait_ – you, our _illustrious_ Headmaster, are a perpetrator not only of unjustified and spontaneous petty violence, but also of outright murder, torture and God only knows what else."

She stood before him, panting from saying it all in two short breaths. But her back was straight, her eyes were bright, and she could _feel_ the righteousness pumping through her veins. She took a step closer to him, so that they stood almost chest-to-chest in front of his desk. He didn't look away.

"So is that what you want?" She couldn't seem to stop. "A school full of junior Death Eaters? A breeding ground for indifference at best and cruelty at worst? _Fuck_ you, Snape. You are full of shit if you think I'm going to teach my people to be _anything_ like _you_."

When he took a breath to speak, his rising chest almost touched hers. She felt his breath wash over her, and was surprised to smell mint.

"If you are quite through extemporizing so _eloquently_ your views on my person," he said in the same quiet voice he'd used earlier, "I have a lesson to teach you this evening."

Hermione felt it like a gut-punch. She'd gone too far, she realised suddenly, not just in her hateful speech to him, but in letting her emotions completely override the situation. She felt raw and open as the righteous anger drained and the previous exhaustion redoubled; she'd always unconsciously used her magic when she was in a temper, and this time had been no different. She was utterly unprepared to face the man who now regarded her with an unpleasant, knowing smile. _Fuck_ …

"I – I don't know if I can – " she stopped herself, taking a long step back from Snape. "I think I had better deal with the student situation this evening before everyone goes to bed. I'd like to –"

"After I assisted them, Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout took the situation in hand." His smile grew. "You are – as it were – _mine_ for the evening."

Hermione felt her knees shaking. _Oh God… after everything I've said…_ She had to get out of this.

"You… you're taking advantage of a situation you deliberately created," she said, trying to muster some of the strength she'd used months before when she'd lied to him. Then, she'd drawn on an endless well of confidence, necessity, and courage. Now… now she had nothing. "I can't be expected to take a – a lesson from you when I'm clearly not at my best – "

"Perhaps that _is_ the lesson, Granger," he said, closing the distance between them once more. "I will give you one minute to compose yourself before I begin."

"Alone – I need time alone to – "

"No. You chose your ground when you began this. You will keep your ground, and –" he allowed himself a soft, nasty chuckle, "you will attempt to hold it."

* * *

A/N 2: Uh oh...


	16. Chapter 16

A/N 1: Psst... remember that warning I issued at the beginning of this piece? The one about the adult themes? Yep, just thought I'd bring that up again here.

* * *

Chapter 16

Hermione didn't argue further. Instead, she closed her eyes, blocking him out so that she could once more look at her Mind's Eye. What she found was not reassuring: everything had been coloured heavily by her emotional outburst. She worked immediately to bleed the tension from the interface, trying to tuck it away, but one minute would not – could never – be enough to deal with all of this –

"Time's _up_ ," Snape said, and she opened her eyes to see his wand pointing at her face. She raised her own only a second before he said the incantation.

His attack was brutal. Although Hermione attempted to control it as he drove through her psyche, he quickly overrode her by using her remaining anger to jump from memory to memory. Eventually, she led him to memories of Harry. _No!_ She plunged him abruptly into memories of her childhood instead, ones that featured her frustration with her parents, her teachers, the fellow students who mocked her, but Snape slid through these and back to more recent memories, and the one he landed on made Hermione gasp aloud. Both hearing and feeling her distress, he hurtled deeper to view the memory properly. Hermione tried desperately to find an opening, a weakness in his assault – _if I could only invert this, there has to be a way to_ – but his psychic grip on her was so firm that it hurt. It was after that horrible night in the Department of Mysteries at the end of her fifth year; she stood listening to Ron trying and failing to comfort Harry. The anger inside her was deep, but she knew it was misdirected. When Harry fled the Common Room, she left as well.

 _No, God, he can't watch this_.

Sensing her dread, Snape clung to the memory with a force she'd never felt before. His presence in her mind was overwhelming, something huge and dark, and Hermione felt herself panic when she realised that all these weeks, all these _months_ , he'd been holding back. He kept his hold on her now, and she felt her psyche faltering with the pain of invasion, a feeling so similar to her imprisonment at the Ministry, to the Dementors' endless torture, that she felt herself crying, nearly sobbing as Snape kept his psychic grip on her.

Hermione watched in horror as her memory-self mounted the stairs to her empty dormitory. There, she warded the door before turning to look in the mirror. Quickly, she took off her pullover and stood in her camisole to stare at the scar marring her chest. Tears ran down her face, tears of the deepest anger she had ever felt, of humiliation and despair and hatred. The scar was a raised, twisted purple line that started at her left collarbone, crossed her sternum and disappeared into the white camisole. She could see the mutilation on her right side through the camisole; even now she couldn't wear a bra, and the fabric did little to hide it. She knew what came next. She knew that she slipped the straps of the camisole down, and looked for the first time at what the scar did beneath the undergarment, at how it twisted down over her ribs and cut her right breast into two disproportionate pieces of flesh.

 _Oh, God_.

She felt Snape withdrawing quickly as the memory-Hermione slipped the straps down. He was about to start looking for other memories, she was sure of it – _what else would he do? –_ and Hermione shuddered to think of what he would find linked to this one. She did the only thing she could think of, the only thing she'd held herself back from doing in their fervent battles during these lessons. She drew back her hand and, aiming carefully through the haze of Legilimency, slapped him hard across the face.

The attack ended at once, but Snape caught her wrist when she made to hit him again. Hermione tried to wrench her arm from his grasp, but he held her tightly. She couldn't look him in the eye anymore, couldn't even bear to look at his face. Not after what he'd just _seen_. No one except Madam Pomfrey had seen the scar. No one knew what Hermione looked like… beneath.

She tried to stop crying, and failed. He had seen some sensitive memories before tonight, certainly, but none of the ones that she had truly _needed_ to keep hidden. He'd been aggressive before tonight as well, but this had been different – this had been deeply invasive, almost vicious. Using that brutish force, he'd found and held one of the darkest emotions she had ever felt – that blend of rage and anguish at being disfigured in what had turned out to be a pointless, catastrophic fight – and now it overcame her once more. Hermione felt her Mind's Eye desert her, felt herself failing in her effort to remain present. She wanted to succumb, to fall to the floor as she'd done months before, when he'd examined her Mind's Eye for the first time, when he'd found the depth of her weakness and brokenness.

Instead, she wrenched at her wrist, pulling with bruising force. _I have to get away from him. He has to let me go_. But Snape held her fast the same way he'd held her mind, the same way he held her within the larger war raging around them. He used his grip to bring her closer to him, and Hermione felt a noxious mixture of panic and yearning as she pressed her hand to his chest, to the black wool encasing every inch of him from the hidden nape of his neck to heels of his dragonhide boots. But she didn't push him away as she wanted to; instead, she balanced against him. She could do nothing else.

"I did not intend to see that," the dark man said gently.

And she felt a pulse of his magic course from his hand into her arm, giving her some of that dusky energy she'd felt running through him every other time they'd happened to touch. She tried to block it off, tried to summon the will to push him away.

"Let go of me," she whispered, still unable to look at him.

"No," he answered, and her eyes flew to his face. He stood close, his head slightly bowed so that he could catch her gaze. Her hand was stark white against the fabric covering his collarbone. Hermione met his eyes and saw something like compassion there. Something almost like an apology. "It will be worse for you if I do. Let me help –"

"Get _off_ ," she said with a ferocity she didn't feel. And she sent some of the little that remained of her own magic into him, hoping to burn him, to make him release her.

Even that small expenditure of energy was too much. Hermione felt herself shaking with an overload of exhaustion and misery. She was fading, falling into a pit that opened wide in her mind to receive her. She'd been down there before... _with the Dementors_...

Snape frowned at her, and she felt his other hand at her waist, steadying her again. He brought her even closer, as though he intended to wrap her in his arms, and Hermione knew it would be a snake's grip, a strangling hold that would take more from her than she could possibly give. She pushed against him.

"Easy," he whispered to her as she swayed. "I am here. You will not fall. You will return to yourself."

She felt herself almost giving way, her eyes still overflowing, her mind still faltering. She _wanted_ to give in - to _him_. That was the underlying, perverse reality here. Hermione wanted to lean against him, wrap herself in him, _let_ him…

"Easy," he said again. "I've got you."

"I hate you," she whispered, as her hand curled up over his hard, solid shoulder, bringing him even nearer, his grip on her other wrist tightening as their disquieting embrace intensified.

Snape continued to send waves of his dark magic through Hermione, continued to watch her as her shaking slowed, as her mind cleared, as the pain he'd found bled away. Hermione didn't know how long they stood like that, how long she balanced against him in both body and mind, but he broke the silence first.

"I intended for you to learn one lesson this evening, Granger," he said calmly, "but it seems that I will have to teach you two."

"I hate you," Hermione said, louder than before. It was a lie. Despite the fact that it was he who had triggered her near-collapse, she could not mean what she said. Not when he'd held her like that, giving her his energy and support while she put herself back together. _But I wouldn't have had to do that if he hadn't broken me apart_. With a surge of strength, she pushed herself away from him, and Snape let go of her waist. And now that she stood on her own, she said it again, hoping to mean it this time: "I hate you, I hate you."

"We already knew _that_ ," he said, still maddeningly calm, and still holding her wrist. "What you have learned this evening is that performing Occlumency under the influence of unchecked emotional turmoil is nearly impossible. You will also learn – " he gestured with his free hand to the bright mark she'd left on his cheek– "why you should _never_ engage physically with a Legilimens unless you are aware of the consequences of such an action, and unless you are prepared for a different level of confrontation entirely."

Despite everything, Hermione felt curiosity pricking at her. She overrode it, choosing to confront him instead.

"How could – how _could_ you look at that memory?" she demanded, shame curling in her gut. "When I – when you saw that I…"

He continued to meet her eyes, but she had trouble doing the same. _He knows. He's seen…_

"I did not know what I was watching until…" he faltered, seemed at a loss for words, and started again, "I was unaware of the… intimacy of the memory until I had seen almost the entire thing. I will never, of course, look at it again."

"We should…" Hermione swiped at her swollen eyes with her free hand, "we should have a system – some sort of signal to tell one another…" she trailed off.

"Would that we could use such an arrangement, Granger, but you already know why it would not work." He gave her a moment to finish composing herself, before changing the subject, "Do you feel my magical signature?"

Hermione nodded, looking down at where they were still joined. His magic was cool yet comforting, dark yet rich.

"I will perform the spell on you now, while maintaining this physical connection – "

She tried to wrench away from him yet again, needing to get away – _he's going to go right back in… he's going to see so much more – he's going to –_

"Please do not be alarmed." His other hand appeared before her eyes and tilted her chin so that she met his gaze again. That sincerity, the dark eyes warmer than she'd ever seen them. She tried – so hard – not to take comfort from this eye contact, from his magic meeting hers, from _him_. She failed, feeling herself leaning slightly towards him. His hand left her face and moved to her shoulder, a warm weight, supporting her slightly. He went on, "I will simply be accessing your Mind's Eye. You may present me with whatever memory you would like so that you may feel the effect of touch on this process. It will not be painful, and it may help to finish grounding you. You may then override the connection and reverse the spell to observe the process from the Legilimency side. We are no longer attacking and defending. This is merely an exercise."

"Ok," she said, breathless. "Ok."

"Prepare a memory now. Tell me when you're ready."

It took a moment longer than she would have liked, but she selected a completely neutral memory of walking through the countryside in Kent the previous summer.

"Ready."

"Legilimens."

* * *

A/N 2: Thank you for all reviews, as always. Please to review more. Now.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N 1: Here's a nice, extra-long one for you, gentle readers.

Chapter 17

Neville confirmed everything that Sunday after he'd been released from the Hospital Wing. Although Madam Pomfrey had done her usual excellent work, he still limped a little, and his eyes looked bloodshot and haunted.

"Why?" Hermione asked him as gently as she could. They were alone in the DA headquarters in the Room of Requirement after the latest meeting. Neville helped her put away the cushions and chairs. "Why cause that kind of a fuss over something that didn't – technically – hurt anyone?"

"I just…" he sighed, looking even more tired as he waved his wand at the last of the chairs so that they stacked themselves – a little haphazardly – against the wall. "I just couldn't let it go. The first years always look so afraid now, and they _should_ be afraid, you know. And I couldn't just stand there and let Carrow do something like that to them."

"But you do realise that your actions caused even _more_ first years, not to mention yourself, to get hurt?"

Neville glared at her, and Hermione suddenly saw him more clearly than perhaps she ever had: he wasn't a round-faced, worried little boy anymore. A man with broad shoulders, a straight back, and a direct gaze stood before her.

"And you'd want me to just _let_ something like that happen, Hermione? When so many DA members were watching?"

"No," she said, "no, I'd never want to let something like that go. But we have to choose our battles – and especially our battlegrounds – carefully. Fighting with the Carrows in a corridor full of potential hostages who can't really defend themselves is an impossible choice."

"So, what, I was supposed to just sit back and let it happen without any kind of consequences to Carrow?"

Hermione had to reassess him again. Instead of the anger she herself had displayed during this same conversation with Snape, Neville seemed to genuinely ask the questions, and ask for instructions. _He's so much braver than I could ever be_.

"Yes," Hermione said, hating herself as she said it. "That's exactly what you do the next time no one is being badly hurt by the Carrows. We can always debrief DA members after incidents like that – but we can't keep fighting at a serious disadvantage all the time."

"And if I'm alone with the Carrows and they attack me?"

Hermione felt herself smile, and felt warm affection surge through her.

"Then you give them everything you've got."

Neville smiled back at her, and some of the new, haunting darkness left his eyes. They sat down together to discuss plans for the DA: further defense lessons and techniques, duelling practice, practical approaches for diffusing potentially violent situations, and so on. At the end of their tête-a-tête, Hermione felt, at last, that they might be gaining some ground in this great fight.

* * *

The more she tried to stop thinking about it, the more it overtook her. During classes, when she patrolled, during the DA meetings, during the informal discussions with Ginny, Luna, and Neville, and, especially, at night when she was supposed to be asleep.

It hadn't been an invasion – _that_ was the thing. After he _saw_ that memory that night - Hermione shuddered just thinking about it, trying not to pull her robes tighter over her chest - Snape held onto her wrist and entered the dull memory she'd chosen, and he'd slid into place as though he belonged there, as though he'd been there all along. His power crept up her arm, following the chakral pathways, making her shiver. Thus connected, he watched the entire memory with her, inside her, floating so deeply within her Mind's Eye that she felt his magic and his person overtaking… everything.

Hermione shook her head violently as she walked down a dark corridor, unsure of where she was going, what she was doing. The memory overtook her time and again - first the memory of _the_ memory, then of the slap, the gentleness he'd displayed, and then finally...

"Stop it," she hissed softly to herself. "Just… stop it."

But it played in a loop in her mind: the rapid fall into his eyes, his dark, cool presence, one warm hand on her wrist, the other on her shoulder, and, at the last moment before the memory ended and she reversed the link, her own hand connecting with his cheek, gaunt and worn and with a layer of stubble, as she affixed herself to him in return, welcoming him in so firmly that their connection deepened even further.

"Shut _up_ ," she told herself firmly – and loudly.

"I didn't say anything yet," an echoing voice said from behind her.

Hermione whirled around, wand primed, hair already crackling with her magic. Dracp Malfoy stood at the other end of the corridor, his hands held empty and innocuously at his sides.

"Malfoy," Hermione breathed, the fear leaking away from her to be replaced by suspicion. "Were you _following_ me?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Granger," he said, moving slowly towards her and lowering his voice. " _I_ am supposed to patrol the dungeons, in case you'd forgotten. Maybe you're following _me_."

Hermione looked around and cursed silently. The patrol that was supposed to take her through the castle's upper floors had instead turned into this long, late-night walk around Hogwarts. The same impulse that led her through the narrow aisles of the Room of Hidden Things had taken over. She'd put the Map away at some point, and now here she was, answering to Malfoy.

"I must have gotten turned around at some point," she said lamely. She gave him a nod and made to walk the opposite way up the corridor, towards the staircase that would take her back towards the Room of Requirement.

To her surprise and considerable annoyance, Malfoy fell into step beside her.

"I've been meaning to catch you alone for a while," he said, glancing at her narrowly in the dim light of the torch-lit hallway. "We need to discuss – "

"Nothing," Hermione said firmly. "You and I have nothing to discuss, Malfoy. Just get back to your patrolling."

"I know about the DA, Granger."

Hermione felt a swooping in her stomach that she quickly quashed down.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"In fact, the whole school knows," he continued. "And I can't help but notice that you've not extended membership to any Slytherins."

Hermione huffed out an indignant breath and started up the staircase. Malfoy followed doggedly behind her, his low voice becoming more urgent as they climbed.

"Even though some members of my House have been having trouble under the new regime."

Hermione whirled on him in the dark stairway, standing her ground above him.

"Why in the _world_ would we want Slytherins in the DA?" she demanded. "Why would we let the same people in who dismantled it two years ago?"

"I didn't say you should let the same people in," he answered, his voice steady and calm. "Not all Slytherins were part of the Inquisitorial Squad, and only a few are directly connected to…" he trailed off for a moment before rallying. "The younger ones deserve some protection, don't you think?"

Hermione felt heat creeping over her face. He had a point: although Slytherin had been the least affected of all the houses, their members had still faced some of the same horrible punishments and unspeakable expectations from the Carrows.

"I… I'll have to think about this," she said slowly.

"That's all I'm asking."

He gave her a formal nod and headed back down the stairs, leaving Hermione with yet another strange puzzle to consider.

* * *

"It's the only thing that makes sense," Harry wrote, scrawling quickly, excitedly across. "It's the only thing we HAVE, Hermione."

Hermione rubbed her eyes with one hand, while she held the other poised, ready to send her reply. _This again_ , she thought, _this stupid, dangerous idea again_. It was early December now and, with the cold settling in, the boys had been having more difficulty than ever before. Ron had become irascible in the face of their lack of success, and Harry had been obsessing endlessly on Godric's Hollow. She'd tried to turn his attention to the symbol she had found in her inexhaustible readings and rereadings of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, but he kept coming back around to Godric's Hollow. As she sat on her bed in the Room of Requirement, shielding her eyes from the insistent messages that would doubtless follow, Hermione's mind raced. _The Sword of Gryffindor_ , she thought, _the Sword of Godric Gryffindor… Godric's Hollow_. And something clicked, something that Harry _hadn't_ thought of all those months ago when he and Ron had first heard that the Sword in the Headmaster's office had been a fake…

"And you KNOW how much it would mean to me to see where my parents – "

"Yes," she wrote to him, ignoring his previous scrawls. "Yes, Harry, I think you might be right. Not necessarily because of your parents – I understand why you'd want to see where they lived, of course – but because of the Sword of Gryffindor. The real one is missing, right? The one Dumbledore wanted to pass on to you in his will –"

"YES!" Harry's writing scrawled across the page. "Exactly! Ron and I can go tomorrow. We can look for the Sword – "

"No, Harry, please don't get carried away with this." Hermione breathed a sigh at her friend's doubtless frustration. "I think it's a good idea to go, but I want to plan it properly so that you and Ron are ready for… for whatever might be there. It'll be dangerous, I'm sure, and we want to make sure you're well-disguised, and that you have a way to escape if need be."

It was the wee hours of the morning by the time Hermione finally set aside her quill, thoroughly exhausted, but somewhat satisfied with the plan she and the boys had worked on. She felt a swoop in her stomach, however, every time she imagined them executing it at the end of the following week. It was hours later when she finally fell into a restless, almost feverish sleep.

* * *

The lessons had been exactly the same since – _shut up, don't even think about it_ – if anything, Snape had been gentler lately. And yet Hermione still hesitated before the gargoyle, still felt the familiar mixture of fear curling around her belly along with something else she refused to identify. She concentrated, yet again, on thoroughly shutting away the… whatever it was that she had felt when she and Snape had exchanged Legilimency through touch. _It was nothing, you stupid girl_ , she told her herself firmly, in a voice that sounded eerily like the Headmaster's, _it was nothing and you're ridiculous for dwelling on it. Shut it away where it belongs_.

Instead, she thought firmly of her specific goals for the evening, the question she had to ask him. _The worst he can do is say no_ , she said to herself, not for the first time. _If he says no, we just carry on like normal_.

"Green Day," she told the gargoyle, which moved instantly to reveal the spiral staircase.

 _That one I_ know _is a Muggle band of some sort. Unless he means a day that is… green. But he's Half-blood. And… Black Sabbath… and Silver Chair..._ She shook her head at her own rambling thoughts and then knocked gently on the door to Snape's office.

"Good evening, Granger," Snape said. He stood with his back to her, staring out the window into the dark winter night. His shoulders were hunched forward slightly, and her first thought was that he looked drawn, and tired.

"Good evening," Hermione said, a little nervously. The question burned in her chest, making her mouth dry. She couldn't ask, not when he was turning towards her looking weary yet forbidding, exhausted yet wired. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out an entirely different question: "Green Day?"

His eyebrows shot up.

"Green Day," she carried on, with a feeling of digging herself deeper, "I think it's a Mug – "

"Is there a reason you are insisting on restating my current password?" he asked waspishly. "I imagine you have already verified it, considering that you stand here, having achieved entry to this office."

"Of course," she snapped back. "But I just wondered why you chose that particular password."

"Is there a _point_ to this line of inquiry? You are here for a purpose, one that does not involve the etymologic disentanglement of passwords."

"And what about the _symbolic_ disentanglement of –"

" _Legilimens!_ " he interrupted, drawing his wand so swiftly, speaking the word so suddenly, that Hermione didn't have the chance to brace herself.

He was in her mind before she could prepare herself, but her Mind's Eye came up dutifully, directing Snape immediately to innocuous memories. He bypassed these rapidly and seized on the mixture of surprise and anger she was feeling to search out more sensitive memories. Flashes of conversations with Ron and Harry – Hermione fought her feelings down, ignoring the hopeful trepidation that was still crawling over her, and neutralised herself as much as she could. She showed Snape a childhood memory, one where she'd hoped to receive a gift one Christmas, a collection of scientific journals that her parents thought too advanced for her. He dismissed the memory, and delved further into her mind, pushing harder, and simultaneously leaving himself open. Hermione inverted the flow of memories with an enormous effort, and found herself immediately in the remote, cool Mind's Eye that Snape employed. _Green Day_ , she thought to herself, and she delved into the residual impatience she felt around her. He blocked her with useless memories, and Hermione sighed inwardly. Soon after she came across a recent memory of Snape yelling at the Carrows, he plunged back into her mind.

Neither of them got far that night. They fought back and forth fiercely, and Hermione felt herself draining with each new memory she brought up, and each new memory she found in Snape's mind.

"Enough," he said at last, lowering his wand. He looked almost as tired as Hermione felt. "Enough for tonight."

He'd been tracking memories of Harry and Ron carefully throughout the session, but Hermione had seized on his growing exhaustion and led him on a wild goose chase with old, banal memories of her various fights and arguments with the boys over the years. He, meanwhile, had forced Hermione to tour his endless hours brewing potions, teaching at Hogwarts, and walking the castle and grounds after nightfall. They both stood in the centre of the beautiful office, and Hermione was surprised to find that she and Snape were both panting slightly.

"Right," she said, her voice faint. "That was…"

"That was well done," Snape said grudgingly. "You held your own this evening, and even attempted several half-decent attacks."

Hermione felt hope flair bright and irresistible in her chest – _it was well done. And_ _she'd held her own_.

"Of course, you were fighting a visibly exhausted opponent, so your victory must be tempered by the circumstances. I _congratulate_ you nonetheless."

She felt her pleasure at his praised turn to stone. He sneered at her, obviously enjoyed the effect his words had on her. Hermione did not sneer in return.

"I have a question for you, sir," she said as neutrally – and respectfully – as she could.

Snape's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Don't you always, Miss Granger?"

"I… the winter holidays are coming up, sir, as you know. And I think my… duties will be a little less… "

"Spit it out, girl."

"I wondered… that is, my parents and I wondered if… if it might be possible for me to… visit them."

Snape's face was utterly expressionless, although the skin beneath one eye twitched.

"Just for a little while," she hurried to say. "Just, you know, a day. Maybe two. I just want to see them. I know almost all of the students will be away over Christmas, so I figure – "

"You're babbling, Granger."

Hermione snapped her mouth shut, and tried to force the blush back down from her cheeks and neck. Snape looked hard at her, and she tried to straighten herself up. This was the first time, she realised, that she had ever asked him for such a personal concession.

"I will…" Snape said slowly, maddeningly, "consider it."

"Right," she said, feeling heartsore already. "I know it's a lot, as I'd have to take the train, and there would be questions and – "

"I said I would consider it," the dark man snapped, bowing his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. His harsh voice did not match his resigned posture. "Now go away."

She tried not to show her disappointment, but she felt her shoulders slump as she turned away from Snape. She was almost at the door when she heard him heave a sigh.

"Granger," he said, his voice coming out in a low, tired growl. "A moment."

Hermione paused, and then turned around slowly. Snape still stood in the middle of the room, in the same posture, with his eyes closed. He opened his eyes as she watched. In the flickering candlelight, he looked more exhausted and hopeless than before, and part of Hermione wanted to wrap her arms around this man who suddenly seemed desperately alone and desolate. She shook herself, half-disgusted by her own impulses, and raised her chin in question.

"Have your things packed. If – and I _do_ mean if – I decide to do this, it will be without notice and you will have to comply with everything I say without question. Is that understood?"

"Of course," she answered immediately.

"Now get out."

She couldn't help it: she smiled at him before she turned tail and fled.

* * *

"Remember to keep track of everyone as best you can," Hermione said for the third time.

"We _know_ , 'Mione," Ginny said, but she was grinning. "We're going to miss you. Be careful around here, what with the Carrows and – "

"I'll be fine," Hermione said, before Ginny could say more.

She and Neville were in the Entrance Hall, overseeing the holiday stampede to the Thestral-drawn carriages. Each DA member was assigned to an older student for the trip to the train, and then into groups of six for the train ride home. Neville, Ginny, Luna, and the other seventh year DA members would patrol throughout the journey.

Ginny gave Hermione a swift, hard hug, and then pressed something into her hands before joining a foursome of first years on their way out the door. Hermione looked down at the little square package, wrapped untidily in an old edition of the _The Daily Prophet_. She frowned – Ginny had never given her a book for Christmas before.

"Really, though," Neville said, watching as Luna shepherded a group of young Ravenclaws down the grand staircase. "Watch your back, Hermione. I heard what McGonagall told you – you're the _only_ student staying over Christmas."

"I know," Hermione said. "But the DA's faculty allies are all staying, too. I've already made arrangements for them to escort me to and from meals, and Dobby will keep the Room open when I'm out."

"Just make sure you don't give the Carrows an opportunity to corner you alone. Ok?"

Hermione felt a little cold at the idea of something like that happening, but she shook it off quickly.

"They've had opportunities all year, haven't they? They know my patrolling schedule and everything. I don't think they care much about me. _You_ on the other hand…"

Neville gave her a saucy grin, a squeeze on the arm, and turned to leave the Entrance Hall. Hermione watched as the rest of the students flowed out into the bracing cold of the December afternoon. She unwrapped the package and sighed when she saw that Ginny had given her a copy of _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_ by Rita Skeeter.

* * *

A/N 2: We've got a nice, busy Christmas holiday coming up...


	18. Chapter 18

A/N 1: Things lift off a little here, friends!

A/N 2: I'm dedicating this one to Silver Orbed Lioness, who will hopefully be satisfied with what goes on here ;)

* * *

Chapter 18

Hermione and the boys discussed the trip to Godric's Hollow over the next few days. They were refreshed and enthusiastic to be planning something – anything – at this point that might yield advancement in this enormous, daunting undertaking. Ron said over and over how he wished Hermione could come, but she stood firm.

"I can't just leave the castle," she wrote three days after the other students had left for the break. "I'm escorted everywhere I go, and even then the Carrows are always around. And Professor Snape, too."

"It must be dull as tombs over there," Ron wrote back quickly. "But you know you could use the Map to – "

"No," Hermione wrote quickly. "I can't."

It took a few minutes for the reply to come, in Harry's writing.

"Are you ok, Hermione? Ron's gone outside to get some firewood."

Hermione smiled to herself, imagining an angry, red-eared Ron barrelling around a forest in the middle of nowhere.

"Yes. I'm fine. I'm hoping to maybe – it's a big maybe, mind – see my parents sometime during the holidays."

"I'm guessing that you won't be able to leave them if you do go see them."

Hermione was pleased that he didn't try to pry into her arrangement with Snape.

"Definitely not," she wrote. "But I'll let you know if and when I do go. And I want you to keep me up-to-date when you leave. Night after tomorrow, right?"

"Right. We're going to get the hairs for the Polyjuice tomorrow."

"And you've already got a safe way out in case of an emergency?"

"Yes."

"Make sure you hide the beaded bag on you somewhere. Don't just put it in a pocket or –"

"It'll be in the moleskin pouch, like all the other important stuff."

"Fine, but I think you'd better keep the pouch in your sock, not around your neck. Just in case you do get caught by someone and they disarm and search you. No one ever checks the socks."

"Sure."

Hermione nodded to herself. This expedition made her nervous in the same way the boys' trip to the Ministry of Magic had done, but there was nothing else for it. She cast a look outside at the blank, dark grounds. She'd been cooped up these last three days. She'd finished the holiday homework after the first day, and she'd finished her Occlumency reading that afternoon. She was bored, and she couldn't remember the last time she had been out of the castle. She grinned at the irony; Harry and Ron would probably have given anything to safely return to comfort of Hogwarts at this moment, while she longed for nothing more than to escape it.

"I've got to go," she wrote to Harry. "I love you both. Be careful getting those hairs. We'll talk tomorrow."

She put the twinned parchment away, and took up the Marauder's Map. A quick scan told her that almost all of the professors had retired for the evening. No one was patrolling, but she saw Professor Slughorn's dot walking through the dungeons towards the kitchens. The Carrows were together in Alecto's quarters, Filch was in his office, and Mrs. Norris was with him. Hermione looked at the Headmaster's Office, but Snape's dot wasn't there. Another scan of the map told her that he was not within the castle or grounds. Shrugging to herself, Hermione pulled one of her old Weasley jumpers (raspberry pink with a large purple H on it) on over her head.

Smiling to herself, she called a name. Dobby appeared by her side immediately, bowing so low that his long nose brushed the tops of his feet.

"Harry Potter's friend, miss," he squeaked.

"None of that, Dobby," she said, patting the elf's shoulder affectionately. He straightened up and Hermione smiled at him.

"I wonder if you could stay in the Room of Requirement for an hour or so for me. I need a bit of air, and I don't want all of this – " she gestured to her cosy bedroom and through the open door to the DA Headquarters beyond – " to disappear."

"Of course, Harry Potter's friend, miss. Dobby will stay here all night if he has to."

"Thanks, Dobby. But it'll just be an hour or so."

She gave the elf a cheerful wave, took up the Map again, and left the Room of Requirement at a quick pace.

Walking out here alone was bliss; the last time she'd had the opportunity for a little fresh air had been at the last Quidditch game, in which Slytherin had crushed Gryffindor. The forest loomed around her, the castle stood sentinel in the distance, and Hermione trudged through the snow, breathing the chill air and smiling to herself. On an impulse, she walked around the outskirts of the forest, and approached Hagrid's hut.

The gamekeeper's beetle-black eyes were suspicious and guarded when he opened the door, but he recognised her immediately and caught her up in a massive – and bone-crushing – hug. Over rock cakes and tea, they had a long discussion about the DA, the state of Hogwarts, and the larger Wizarding world. After a brief hesitation, Hagrid glanced at her fervently and confessed that he was planning to throw a party in the New Year.

"What kind of party?" she asked warily.

"Nothin' fancy, yeh understand," he answered quickly. And he went on about how important it was to support Harry, even from a distance, and how much he thought the students could benefit from getting together to celebrate the Chosen One.

Hermione, who had been gathering herself to leave, sat herself right back down and spent a quarter hour trying to dissuade Hagrid from this disastrous plan. He came around eventually, if reluctantly, and Hermione left his hut feeling an odd mixture of comfort and discomfiture.

She walked it off slowly now, looking up at the full moon that shone down through a gap in the clouds. It was cooler down here by the lake, but Hermione kept going. Something in the sky by the Forbidden Forest caught her eye: a dark shape soaring over the trees like a huge bird of prey, coming towards her. Hermione gasped, her mind shooting to a conversation after the disastrous retrieval the Order had executed to get Harry safely out of his aunt's house… it was something Bill said that confirmed what she and Kingsley had seen as they flew madly away from a shape on the wind, black flowing robes and a skull-like face…

"Oh no," she breathed. She drew out her wand and cast the best Disillusionment Charm she could muster over herself, hoping she hadn't been spotted yet, and then she stepped slowly into the shadow of the forest behind her. She pulled out the Marauder's Map, and tore her eyes away from the approaching dark shape in the sky. She fumbled for a moment, terrified, and then sighed in relief: the name Severus Snape appeared next to the dot that was now almost overheard.

Her relief bled away when she saw that the dot seemed to be hovering over her. _Shit!_ She cursed herself silently, and made a quick retreat further back into the trees. And then she saw them: the footprints she'd left behind in the snow, leading to precisely where she stood now. _Oh hellfire_ , she swore silently, but it was too late to wipe out the prints – Snape was landing about twenty feet away, just by the side of the lake. The snow melted around him immediately – _Of course, flying like that in this weather would mean using extensive heating charms_ – and he stalked forward slowly, wand aloft, following her footprints. Hermione took a deep, careful breath, tucked the Map into her robes and checked her Mind's Eye. Then she mustered her courage, stepped out of the shadow of the trees and lifted the Disillusionment Charm.

Snape stood only ten feet from her, and Hermione looked at his drawn, expressionless face and felt herself tremble slightly, although she was uncertain that it was from the cold. He was dressed in a black travelling cloak, and heat came off him in waves as he stepped closer to her. She realised that she hadn't seen him in a while.

 _Not since I begged him to take me to see my parents…_

"Granger," he said when he stood before her. "What is the meaning of this?"

He sounded… neutral. And when Hermione examined his face more closely, she saw what she would have missed months before they'd begun spending Friday evenings together: his eyes were rimmed with red, his shoulders slightly slumped, the lines around his mouth taut and stern. He looked tired, and… troubled?

"I fancied a walk," she answered, her trembling turning into shivering. She realised that the hour-long stroll that had begun before nine o'clock had gone on for hours, and that the warmth of Hagrid's hut had slowly seeped from her to be replaced by a chill she hadn't felt until now.

"A walk outside." He stepped a little closer, and Hermione felt more heat rolling off of him. "In this cold. In nothing more than an ill-fitting _jumper_."

"I didn't expect to be out for long. I just got… carried away," she finished lamely. He looked away, towards the castle, and Hermione saw that he shivered slightly where he stood, despite his heat. She asked it without thinking: "He taught you to fly, then?"

Snape's attention snapped back to her. Hermione held his gaze, despite how odd it felt to be standing with him next to the Forbidden Forest in the dead of winter. He gave a curt nod.

"Is it difficult?"

"Yes."

"How – ?"

"Another time, perhaps," he said with a sigh. "For now, we must return to the castle."

Hermione drew herself up to her full height.

"Maybe I'm not quite through walking," she declared.

He sneered.

"You're half-frozen. And it's late." His obvious exhaustion subsided for a moment as a miniscule smile turned up one corner of his thin mouth. "And I have somewhere to take you."

Hermione opened her mouth to answer, and quickly shut it again. Fear slid over her, and she stepped quickly away from Snape and back towards the Forest.

"No, I'm not going – "

He followed her, frowning.

"I refer to what we discussed at our last meeting, Granger," he said gently. "Nothing more."

To her parents – he planned to take her to her parents. She sighed in relief and felt herself sag towards him. He hesitated for a moment, and then tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. Warmth seeped through Hermione, and she realised that her shivering had turned into shaking.

"How long have you really been out here?"

He examined her closely and, without letting her answer, turned them both around and steered her forcefully towards the castle. He went on berating her for her stupidity, for being underdressed, for risking a walk next to the forest, but he punctuated his harsh admonishments with renewals of his strong heating charms.

They came within sight of the castle, and he paused for a moment before asking, "The Carrows will have left the castle – and you are _lucky_ , girl, that they would have used the gates to the south, but I wish to confirm their absence before we go any further."

"What – " she started to ask, and then realised what he was asking for. "Oh, ok." She drew out the Map with her free hand and they looked it over together. "I don't see them, do you?"

"No, it's as I thought. They're gone. Come," he pulled at her gently.

They walked quickly and entered the castle through a side door. Inside, Snape released her arm at once. They navigated the castle quietly, but Hermione couldn't help voicing the worry that sprang up when she thought of the Carrows.

"Won't they realise I'm gone once they're back?"

"They will be away over the next days, perhaps even weeks. They will not know that you are gone."

"What about the other staff?"

"I will make your excuses."

"So…" Hermione felt hope flutter in her chest as they neared the Gryffindor Common Room. "So I get to spend Christmas with my family?"

They stopped before the portrait of the Fat Lady, and the small smile appeared again briefly before Snape nodded. Hermione didn't even think about it, didn't consider it for a moment: she closed the space between them and threw her arms around his neck, drawing him into a close, fierce hug. He was stiff in her arms, but Hermione rested her head on his clavicle, and thought briefly of that time, months ago, when he'd held her, anchored her, in the fire. As she inhaled the scent of his robes – woodsmoke and herbs – she thought he'd pull back immediately, but he surprised her. His hands came up and, so lightly she might have imagined it, he rested them around her waist, drawing her infinitesimally closer.

It could not have lasted longer than a moment before he was indeed stepping back. He ran his hands through his greasy hair, and looked down at his feet. Two spots of colour appeared high on his cheeks, and, a little embarrassed herself, Hermione turned away.

"I'll just get my things, then. I packed days ago, just as you instructed. I won't be but a moment."

She hastily gave the Fat Lady the password, ran to the Seventh Year dormitory, and entered the Room of the Requirement through the secret door therein to reach her real quarters. There, it took more than "but a moment" to bring down the deep red blush that had suffused her cheeks and neck.

* * *

They were silent during their careful walk back down through the castle. The Map confirmed what they'd seen earlier: everyone else in the castle had retired. Dobby's little dot stayed in the Room of Requirement, and would remain there until Hermione returned. Snape Disillusioned her when they reached the Entrance Hall, and then bade her to follow him, and they walked across the grounds together towards the southern gates. There, Snape took her rucksack and slung it over one shoulder – Hermione could not help smiling at the odd combination of severe Potions Master and bright red Jansport backpack. Snape held out his hand, Hermione grasped it, and without a word, they whirled away from Hogwarts.

Hermione stumbled a bit, but Snape steadied her.

"Where are we?" she asked, suddenly nervous. She'd expected to land on the doorstep of Snape's house at Spinner's End, but they stood in a dark alley instead, grey snow piled around them, refuse at their feet.

Snape released her hand, and stepped away from her, looking around warily.

"I _said_ – "

"Ssh!" He raised a hand to forestall her questions. "Stay there."

He walked to the mouth of the alley, looking back and forth. His wand slid from his sleeve, and Hermione felt his magic slide down the alley towards her; it was the same revealing spell he'd used to get her attention last summer. He glanced back towards her, and nodded. Hermione moved forward – he followed her movements vaguely, and she remembered that the Disillusionment Charm was still in effect.

"Sir?"

"We are quite alone," he said by way of explanation. "Come."

Hermione followed him along the run-down street, through another alley, and she abruptly recognised the ramshackle house she'd seen so long ago when they emerged on the other side.

"I'm not sure how long you'll be able to stay," he told her as they mounted the steps to the landing by the front door. "But I can guarantee at least the next three days."

Hermione turned to the dark man. He lifted the Charm, handed over her rucksack, and gave her a curiously formal nod.

"Thank you," she breathed, tempted to hug him once more. Perhaps he sensed her impulse: he stepped back and seemed to examine his dragonhide boots. "Really, I can't tell you how much this means to me."

"You're quite welcome," he answered softly. He turned away quickly and headed down the steps. "Happy Christmas, Granger," he said over his shoulder.

"Happy Christmas, Snape," she answered, before knocking on the door.


	19. Chapter 19

IMPORTANT A/N 1: I'm "due" for a wondrous familial change any time now, and I'm not sure when I'll resume our weekly schedule afterwards. This is NOT me putting this story on hiatus. This is me taking a brief leave in order to see to my family and myself. I'll be back as soon as I can (I might even get a couple more updates in if possible). Until then, please wish me love, light, and luck.

A/N 2: I flipping love you guys. And this story. And Hermione. And Snape. And especially you guys.

* * *

Chapter 19

It felt like her parents would never stop hugging her, and Hermione hugged them back just as fiercely. Relief surged through her in waves as she examined them both, and she couldn't help but cry. Her mother joined her, and her father looked teary-eyed.

"Hermione, my _dear_ , we've missed you so much," her mother said, face buried in Hermione's cloud of bushy hair.

"It's been very hard without you," her father said, and he wrapped his arms around his wife and daughter and held them both fast against his chest.

"I know," Hermione said. "It's been awful."

At last, the three drew apart, and Hermione had a chance to look around. She gasped at what she saw.

"This place is… it's so _different_."

Her mother smiled widely, and brushed the last tears from her eyes.

"It's better, isn't it?" she said, smiling proudly. "That professor of yours did a lot of it, of course, just as he'd promised, but your father and I have made a real project of making the place truly liveable."

"I think you've gone past _liveable_ ," Hermione said, smiling back at her mother. "This place looks _great_."

It was spotlessly clean - that was the first thing Hermione noticed. But not just that: the floors had been stripped of the old, mouldy carpeting to reveal highly-polished hardwood; there was new furniture in the fashionably-decorated living room with a blazing fire in the grate; through a doorway, Hermione saw a tiny kitchen with old appliances but new cupboards.

"How did you manage all of this?"

"Professor Snape did quite of bit of magicking for us," her father said, "but we insisted that, after he'd made the biggest changes, he just get us the materials to fix the rest up. It's kept us busy, and I think he's quite pleased with the place now."

"Wait," Hermione said, frowning a little, "he still comes here? Often?"

"Not so often at first," her mother answered, "but I think he took pity on us sometime during the fall. He comes, what – " she looked at her husband, who shrugged, "perhaps once every ten days or so now? I suppose it's when he finds the time. He joins us for dinner, usually, and sometimes for a game of something afterwards."

"A _game_?" Hermione felt incredulous – Snape had never said a word.

"Sure," her father answered. "The man's a dab hand with cards. We're lucky we never play for anything but the fun of it. He'd fleece us if the stakes were higher."

Hermione smiled to herself, resolving to prod Snape's mind during their next lesson to see one of these card games.

Her parents showed her to the guest room – they had the master bedroom, which Snape had magically enlarged for them – but hers was the tiny room at the back of the house. It was clean, but Hermione immediately sensed magical traces all over it – not the recent ones marking the rest of the house. These were faint, but impossible to ignore, like the traces of magic in her own room in their old, abandoned house. Her parents left her to unpack her rucksack and make herself at home, and she started to explore. The tiny desk beneath the window held nothing but a few old magic textbooks. The walls were blank, the wardrobe empty, but when Hermione opened the desk's single drawer, she found a small collection of objects that made her first gasp, then smile. An old Slytherin House tie, a shimmering prefect's badge, and a faded banner bearing the English National Quidditch team's colours.

Hermione turned and surveyed the room again. Closing her eyes, she thought of the times she had seen glimpses of Snape's childhood. The room had been dingy then, the bed on the opposite wall, the wardrobe had been stained, and the windows had been almost permanently shuddered, but it _was_ the same room. She suppressed a shiver at the thought of sleeping in Snape's old room – it was an odd, unsettling thought.

* * *

It was late, but Hermione and her parents stayed up into the night talking. Hermione was careful to stick to subjects that wouldn't obligate her to lie to them outright – her success in (most of) her classes, her status as Head Girl, her ideas of what her future might look like in the wizarding world. She kept the details of the war, and the truth of who was really running Hogwarts carefully locked out of the conversation. In return, her parents told her more about their renovations, about how they spent their endless time in the house, and about how Snape had magically enlarged the tiny back garden into a large park that they could use for exercise. When it was just past two in the morning, they all finally said goodnight, and Hermione retreated back to Snape's tiny bedroom.

It was cool up here, and Hermione changed quickly into her night things and dove into the bed. It was comfortable enough despite how the mattress dipped at the centre and, tired as she was, she drifted off to sleep almost immediately, despite the strangely comforting scent of wood smoke and herbs trapped in between the sheets.

* * *

The next day passed almost too quickly and Hermione, conscious that this would be the only time she'd see her parents for months to come, tried and failed to stop worrying about the Harry and Ron and their upcoming mission. She spent time cooking with her mother in the afternoon, and then she followed her father into the large greenhouse in the evening. It was full of flowers they had planted throughout the time they'd spent here, and Hermione worked in there for a while, renewing the heating charms Snape had set up, and devising other ways to improve the space.

They had their Christmas tea late in the evening, and Hermione had to excuse herself briefly for a supposed bathroom break; the parchment hidden in her jeans pocket had grown suddenly warm, and was now an inky black. After the brief exchange of code words, the boys told her that they were setting off to Godric's Hollow.

"Good," she sent back quickly. "I can't talk long – I'm with my parents and we're having Christmas dinner, and they don't know…" she trailed off for so long that the words disappeared from the parchment, "much of anything."

"Ok, well wish them a happy Christmas from us," Ron wrote back.

"Are you both comfortable with side-along Apparition under the Cloak?" she asked, not for the first time.

"Yes, we've been practicing like mad."

"Ok. Let me know how everything goes as soon as it's safe to do so. Remember to keep yourselves as hidden as possible. And remember to watch your backs."

"We will, to all of it."

She signed off quickly, with the feeling of dread wedging its way deeper into her gut. The idea of the boys finally abandoning the safety of the woods for the very place where Harry's parents died was disturbing, but there wasn't much else for it. This was the only lead they had, and they had to follow it up.

She was getting ready for bed when the parchment, which she'd placed carefully next to her pillow, turned black once more. She gasped and quickly warded the door to keep her parents from entering. _They'll be asleep by now anyway_ , she thought vaguely to herself. She tapped the parchment, and was about to begin the usual careful greetings, when Ron's loopy writing – untidy at best, but this time almost illegible – ran across the parchment.

"Hermione we've only just got away. The snake – you-know-who's bloody SNAKE was waiting in the house for us!"

Hermione's mouth went dry, and she tapped the parchment immediately with her answer.

"Are you both ok?"

"Yes, but I think we only just got away. The snake tried to keep us there – I think it was calling You-Know-Who to come and get us." He paused for a moment. "Harry's in a bad way."

"Did it bite him? Is he poisoned?"

"It did, but I don't think it poisoned him, if that makes any sense. He's just… Hermione, he's ranting. I don't know what to do."

"Where are you?"

"What – you can't – "

"Ronald, tell me where you are this instant. And give me a specific landmark to Apparate to."

He told her, and Hermione jumped up, already pulling a jumper on over her pyjamas.

"Stand just outside the range of the protective charms. Make sure you can get us both back inside that tent. I'll be there in two minutes."

She had barely finished Apparating before Ron was engulfing her in a huge hug.

"Gods, 'Mione, it's fucking good to see you," he said into her neck.

She pushed him away gently.

"You too. Where's Harry?"

Ron took her hand and led her into the circle of protective charms. Harry was inside the tent, writhing on a camp bed.

"Did you treat the snake bite?" Hermione asked.

"I tried a Healing Spell, but I'm not very good at them."

"Get the dittany for me, will you?"

They had to remove the beaded bag from Harry's sock before they could Summon the little bottle from the depths of the bag. Harry thrashed as they did this, and then caught Hermione's arm in an iron grip. He dropped something heavy onto the floor, and Hermione did a double-take when she saw that it was a copy of _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_. She looked back at her friend, and firmly dismissed the book from her mind for the time being.

"Harry, I'm here," she whispered, brushing a strand of hair from his sweaty forehead.

"He's going to kill them," he answered harshly, his eyes wide and distant. "He's in the house. He's going to kill them."

"I know," she answered, shuddering at what he must be seeing but unsure of what to do. "But you're safe now. You got away."

Ron handed her the bottle of dittany, and Hermione carefully dribbled a few drops onto the snake bite. She and Ron both sighed with relief when the skin immediately began to mend itself.

"You were right," she said to Ron. "It didn't poison him. You-Know-Who still wants Harry alive."

Harry thrashed again after Hermione released his arm. She reached over and removed his glasses lest shatter from all the sudden, jerking movements.

"What's wrong with him now?" Ron asked, looking pale under his freckles.

"I… I'm not sure. It seems like he's having visions of some sort."

"It was scary, right before I wrote to you. He'd started talking like… I don't know, maybe like You-Know-Who."

Hermione regarded Ron, feeling her own face paling.

"The connection," she said slowly, "do you think the connection has been reopened because of this?"

"I think it might have been open all along, actually."

"That's… that's really, really bad, Ron," Hermione said, looking down at Harry. She conjured a rag and a basin of cool water and mopped his brow. "If You-Know-Who has this kind of control – "

"I don't think he's controlling Harry," Ron said firmly. "No. I'm sure he's not. I'd have noticed. It's just the two of us, right? You notice when the only other person you've seen in six months goes barmy."

They kept up the quiet, whispered conversation while Hermione continued to soothe Harry as best she could. He thrashed about for what seemed like hours, before subsiding into a feverish, fitful doze.

"I think he'll stay asleep now," she said, standing up at last. "If I weren't so unsure of what he's going through, I would consider giving him some Dreamless Sleep or something else to keep him quiet. But it might do more harm than good."

"You're leaving?" Ron asked, standing too.

Hermione smiled at him warmly, sadly.

"I have to. I shouldn't have come at all – just like you said. My parents will be beyond worried if they wake to find me away, and it's…" Hermione cast a quick Tempus, "four-thirty in the morning. I hate to leave them alone much longer."

She looked down at Harry again, before bending and giving him a swift kiss on the cheek.

"Give him my love when he comes to, ok? And let me know if he gets any worse. I don't know what else we can do for him, but I'd at least like to keep abreast of the situation."

Ron nodded, and Hermione turned away to exit the tent. He stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"I didn't tell you everything," he said sombrely. "I… it happened really fast, 'Mione. And there wasn't any time once the snake came out…" Ron reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wand so disfigured it took Hermione a beat to realise what it signified. "I cast a blasting hex - I didn't even _mean_ to do it, mind you, it just happened - and it must have caught Harry's wand."

Hermione reached out to touch the phoenix wand where it lay broken in Ron's palm. She felt like crying, like screaming out into the woods, like letting her knees buckle and staying here until morning being comforted by her two best friends. She drew herself up instead.

"That's a setback," she said at last, closing Ron's fingers back around the shattered wand. "It…it isn't good. There must be a way…" She trailed off before thrusting her own wand towards him. "Take mine, Ron. Give it to Harry. It won't be the same, but at least he can use it until something better – "

"Have you gone barking?" Ron pocketed the broken wand, and batted Hermione's offering away. "You need that more than either of us do, the place you're going back to. We…we'll make do."

"Ok. But let me know if you change your mind." Hermione peered out of the tent. The night still held, but she knew that dawn would not be that far off. "I really have to go now."

Ron stepped out with her, embraced her, and let her go.

* * *

Hermione Apparated back to Spinner's End feeling profoundly exhausted and deeply worried about her two friends. It had been right to go to them, even though she hadn't been able to do much for Harry. It had been –

She stopped short on the front lawn of the house. There, on the steps of the porch, his face set in lines of fury, stood Snape.

* * *

A/N 3: Dun dun duuuuunnnnn... I'll try not to keep you all waiting too long. xox


	20. Chapter 20

A/N 1: I couldn't leave you dears hanging. Things are ramping up here in the real world, but I had to update one more time. I'll be answering all reviews (as usual) when I get the chance, but I have read them all... several times. Keep 'em coming!

* * *

Chapter 20

Snape descended the stairs slowly and walked until he stood directly in front of Hermione. She cast about for excuses. _He has wards_ , an idiotic voice babbled in her mind, _it must have been wards set up around the house. They alerted him when –_

"I have awaited your return for nearly _three hours_ , Granger," he spat, enunciating each word perfectly. His mouth lifted over his teeth in a snarl. "You will tell me this instant: _Where. Were. You_?"

The anger that had welled up immediately at his tone leaked away as Hermione looked into his eyes. They were dark pits in the moonlight, and she saw that his expression held more than anger. She glanced at the house, and then back to the dark man. He looked her up and down, as though he expected to find her altered in some way.

"Did you… are my parents ok?" she asked at last.

His face darkened further, and he stepped forward, well into Hermione's personal space.

"Answer my question, girl, or I swear – "

"No." She said it firmly, feeling the word resounding in her chest. "No. I won't tell you a damn thing, Snape." She jabbed a finger into his chest. "Now you answer me: are my parents ok?"

"You were not – " he cut himself off, and seemed to search for the words before continuing: "Did you leave the house of your own volition?"

Hermione frowned at him.

"There was an emergency. I had to go."

She made to step around him, to go and check on her parents herself, but he seized her by the arm and drew her close.

"Do you have any idea of what you _risked_ , Granger?"

She met his eyes, and instead of trying to wrench herself from his grip, which had been her first impulse, she leaned against him, her chest brushing his, her hand seizing his shoulder. Surprised, he drew back from her a little, but Hermione kept her grip on him. He dropped his eyes after a moment, and Hermione felt a surge of some strong emotion rise in her chest before she squashed it down.

"Yes, actually," she said quietly. "I do know what I risked. I risked myself and my parents, and probably you as well. And everyone I look after at school." And then, in a gesture that she had never thought she would reverse, she took his chin in her hand and turned his face so that he had to look at her. His eyes widened at her touch, and she left her hand there, her fingers cupped gently around his jaw. It was hardly a question – it hardly needed asking. But she said it anyway: "Did you hurt my parents, Snape?"

"Of course not," the man breathed, his eyes filling with something hard and distant. He pulled resolutely away from her, brushing her hand away from his face. "We have an understanding – an agreement." He rearranged his pristine robes and travelling cloak, and then glared at her from behind his dark curtains of hair. "An agreement that _you_ came very close to cancelling this evening."

"I won't apologise," she told him, "but I'm glad you were here to watch over them while I was gone."

He stared at her, surprise evident on his features before he wiped his face of all emotion once more. He turned away without another word, heading up the path toward the street beyond.

"I'm going to make tea," Hermione called to his retreating back. Her words came out in a warm cloud in the freezing air. "Join me, if you like."

Snape turned and looked her up and down as he had done before.

"You are half frozen again, Granger. You must learn to wear a _coat_ if you insist on gallivanting out of doors in the dead of winter."

"Do you want tea or not?" she snapped. "If you do, you'll have to leave off the scolding until I've warmed up a bit."

She turned without waiting for an answer, and smiled slightly to herself when Snape followed her up the stairs of the porch and into the house. Hermione took his heavy black cloak and waved him into the kitchen. She heard the kettle whistle briefly a moment later, and cast a quick _Muffliato_ up the stairs towards her parents' room. Snape sat at the kitchen table, a pot of tea brewing before him. Hermione took a chair for herself, and tried not to shiver as she sat. After suppressing the temptation for half a minute, she reached out and cupped her hands around the teapot to warm them.

"Who did you think took me?" she asked a moment later.

"I…" Snape trailed off, and Hermione glanced up to see him staring down at his own interlaced fingers on the tabletop. "There are any number of individuals who might see the benefit in capturing you or your family."

"As you did?"

His mouth turned up bitterly. It was nothing like a smile.

"Indeed. But I am intent on keeping you, Granger. We're not through, after all."

"Right," she said, smiling bitterly herself. "You've got to finish plundering my mind for hidden treasure. I'm surprised you haven't had more success with that yet."

"You have proved a good study of Occlumency."

It was not a compliment, and Hermione refused to take it as one. She fiddled with her teacup before answering, "I can be annoying that way, can't I? Quite the swot."

He frowned at her, and she poured them each a cup of the hot, fragrant tea.

"I wouldn't say that," the man answered quietly before taking a sip of his tea.

Hermione, suddenly a little uncomfortable, cast about for something to change the subject.

"My parents said that you've stayed for dinner and cards with them a number of times over the months."

Snape's small smile was genuine this time, and Hermione felt herself returning it.

"They are kind," he said slowly. "And I think the least I can do is to offer them a little company – however poor – while they are thus sequestered."

"But doesn't it go against Death Eater principles? _Choosing_ to spend time with Muggles?"

Snape shrugged, and met her eyes squarely.

"I've spent much of my life in the company of Muggles." He took another sip of tea, and looked down at the table.

"We've been improving the solarium," she said to fill the sudden silence.

Snape snorted.

"The balcony, you mean?"

"It's almost a greenhouse now, actually," Hermione answered.

"Conjured glass on a mouldering patio does not a greenhouse make. I'm sure that Professor Sprout would agree with me."

"Actually, I think she'd agree with _me_ ," Hermione said smugly. "We've managed to put in a lot of flowers that I duplicated and grew from the ones you brought my parents a few weeks ago. I… might have even improved them a bit."

"Indeed?" Snape took a swallow of tea, an eyebrow raised in question.

"Stop looking so sceptical. Come and see."

Hermione stood, and gestured for him to follow. He snorted again but complied, and Hermione led him to the back of the house, where a door opened onto the balcony-cum-solarium. The stairs down to the backyard were sealed for the time being, creating a wide, enclosed space lit by a single exterior floodlight.

"Ta-da!" Hermione said, grinning widely as Snape turned in a slow circle, taking in his surroundings.

Her parents hadn't had many indoor plants to choose from, but Hermione had been able to not only multiply them by magic, but also make them grow and then bloom faster. And so there were dozens of flowers almost over spilling their pots along the conjured shelves in the solarium: orchids, violets, lavender, and a huge number of her mother's favourite, forget-me-nots. Hermione smiled at Snape's wide eyes and obvious surprise.

"You have… outdone yourself, Miss Granger," he said slowly. "You've created a garden in miniscule – and in winter, no less."

"Too right," she answered. "And you haven't even seen the best part. Here – "

She reached out and picked a tiny, brilliantly blue forget-me-not. She took Snape's hand, turned it over, and placed the flower in the centre his palm. The little petals immediately began to open and close in a slow, gentle rhythm. Snape gasped, and stepped back quickly, closing his fingers around the moving flower.

"Oh," Hermione said, a little confused by his reaction. "I suppose I should have warned you. It's just a little charm I found – years ago, actually. It'll wear off pretty soon. Sorry."

"Not at all," Snape said after a moment.

Hermione returned his dour look with a smile she could feel almost in her heart.

"It was a nice way to pass the time with my parents. Now every time they come in here, they'll have a bit of my magic. At least for a little while."

Snape nodded, and then looked at Hermione in a way that made her feel a little lightheaded, as though he could see everything she was thinking without needing Legilimency. He seemed to appraise her that way for a moment, and then took a small step closer.

When he spoke again, it was almost in a whisper. "Have you heard, Miss Granger, of the term Taboo in a magical context?"

"I…" Hermione searched her memory for the word, a little confused by the non-sequiter. "I think so. It's a jinx, isn't it… but conceptual?"

"Verbal in this case," he answered. "One can choose a word, or name, to jinx so that whenever it is spoken, it Summons those aware of it."

"It… must be a difficult spell to perform."

"Nearly impossible to do effectively, let alone on the scale to which I refer."

Something prickled down Hermione's back, and she almost convulsively thought it before catching herself: _Volde –_

"You-Know-Who?" she asked.

Snape gave a tiny nod.

"It happened last time, too, didn't it?" she said. "In the last War, I mean. That's why… it's never been only about fear."

"Not only, no. And now, especially, it is a… practical way of tracking those who – " he cut himself off, and looked down at the flower still opening and closing in his hand, before continuing, "I am sure you know what to do with this information."

"Of course," Hermione said at once, without thinking about it. "But why – "

"And I am equally sure that you will forget who has provided you this information."

"Yes…" Hermione said, "but I – "

"The Taboo has been in effect for some time. It will have… had some results already. I heard about it only this evening."

"You…" Hermione trailed off, wondering how to phrase her question – wondering if she could even begin to formulate it in her mind.

There was something that simply didn't add up here, something that had been niggling at her for months now. It was the inconsistencies between the image she held of this man; the Death Eater who held her parents hostage while he tried to extort information from her, and the Half-blood who had sat at his own kitchen table, in the house he'd so thoroughly improved for her parents, sharing a cup of tea, quiet conversation, and now crucial intelligence. This was the man who had let her join her family for Christmas, who had watched over them in her absence, and who had never, despite his power over herself and her fellow students, pressed his advantage any further than the agreement they'd made.

Snape was watching her, and Hermione realised that she'd been looking into his eyes as her mind went into overdrive. _Even the passwords to his office don't add up,_ the nattering voice said loudly in her head. _Something so small and unnoticeable that only someone with Muggle heritage would recognise it_. She continued to stare back at him, the superimposed images of the Death Eater and the man before her, the dissonance rising up inside her mind like a song she knew by heart that was terribly, irrevocably out of tune.

The man turned and left the solarium abruptly. After a confused moment, Hermione stumbled after him into the dark living room and through the kitchen. She sat back down at the table, intent on another cup of tea, but Snape did not join her.

"I will see you in several days," he said over his shoulder as walked into the hallway beyond the kitchen.

Hermione sat for a second, staring down into her steaming cup before she jumped up to follow him.

"Wait," she commanded.

He'd donned his cloak and she saw in the dim light of the hallway that he'd already reached for the front door.

"What is it?" he asked, his back to her, his black hair and cloak blending seamlessly with the shadows.

She approached him and reached out to touch his shoulder. Before she could, he whirled around to face her, his pale visage the only thing she could see clearly. He was as expressionless as ever, but she felt the intensity of his gaze.

"I want to know…" she trailed off, trying to hold his eyes, his stare almost too much with the darkness pressing in around them both. "The things you say and the things you do… they don't…"

"Do not misinterpret where my interests lie, Granger," he said, suddenly harsh. "Our world is entirely different now, and you would do well to remember that _I_ was one of those who made it so. I knew what I did then. And I know what I do now."

"That doesn't – that isn't to say that you couldn't reconsider your – "

He leaned forward, almost closing the space between them, so that shadows crept up his face, obscuring his eyes.

"Do _not_ suggest such things to me, girl. Don't even – "

He cut himself off and, looking down, Hermione saw that his hands had reached out for her, but that he'd restrained himself – barely.

"Fine," she said, taking a long step back and squaring her shoulders. "Fine. You don't have to answer my questions tonight. Goodness knows I didn't really answer yours. There are other ways to find out."

Snape's head tilted slightly to the side as he considered her, and Hermione raised her chin defiantly.

"Quid pro quo, Professor," she said. "Turnabout is fair play."

He paused for a moment, and Hermione felt some of the bravado leaving her system as he regarded her.

"You forget, Miss Granger, that I do not play fair."

And, without another word, he walked away from her and into the night.

* * *

A/N 2: And there you have it. Less of a cliff to leave you hanging on.


	21. Chapter 21

A/N 1: And we're back!

* * *

Chapter 21

She spent the next days with her parents, but much of the time in the evenings Hermione shut herself away to write messages to Harry and Ron. Harry was recovering well from his injuries, but had, according to Ron, withdrawn substantially at the loss of his wand. He'd demanded that Hermione read through Skeeter's book after learning that she, too, had a copy of it. And, after much hesitation and teeth-grinding, Hermione had finally sat down to absorb Skeeter's verbose, grotesquely self-effacing prose. It had not made for fun reading, but she had found herself particularly drawn to the copy of one letter that had been included in the pictures section of the book.

"Where is Harry now?" she demanded of Ron one night. "Is he alright? I need to talk to him about something."

"He said he fancied a walk."

Hermione glared at Ron's writing.

"And you let him go? _Alone_?"

"We're in the middle of that forest you mentioned, 'Mione. There's nothing here that's out to get us. And we've been following your orders to the letter. No mentioning You-Know-Who by name – Harry almost did the other night, though, I actually had to thump him – and we've stopped wearing the Horcrux for good."

"Good, how do you feel without it full-time?"

"So much better. You were right… of course. It was really starting to get to me. It kept…" Ron's scribbling slowed down. "I… started thinking weird things about you… and Harry."

Hermione felt her cheeks pinking slightly, and she grounded herself by looking around Snape's old, now-familiar bedroom. She took a deep breath before writing back.

"That's nonsense, Ron. I miss you _both_ , as you well know. And there's nothing going on that you don't know about." Hermione bit her lip so hard that she tasted blood. She'd lied without even realising it, without even –

Ron was writing again: "I know, Hermione. I just miss you like mad, that's all. It does stuff to your head, you know. Being out here all the time with barely anything to eat and nothing to do but think of Horcruxes. You _were_ right, though, about the locket. We keep it in Harry's pouch now. I don't even like looking at it, really."

Hermione nodded to herself, glad that her precautions had finally sunken in with the boys. But something niggled at her, bothering her.

"How long has Harry been gone?"

Ron took a moment to answer, and Hermione pictured him staring at the ceiling of the tent, trying to calculate.

"I don't know… maybe twenty minutes?"

"Maybe you should go out and check on him."

"I can't do that without packing everything up, Hermione. You know that – _you_ designed all these protective spells around me."

Hermione almost kicked herself.

"Of course. No, you're right. We'll just wait until he comes back. In the meantime, I've got an idea for another plan, maybe even in the next few days."

Hermione told Ron about the symbol she had seen in Rita Skeeter's book – the odd eye that Dumbledore had used in place of the letter A for his signature – and about remembering that Xenophilius Lovegood had been wearing a necklace with that same symbol during Bill and Fleur's wedding all that time ago.

"And you reckon he knows something about all of this, then?" Ron wrote back. "Seems a bit thin, doesn't it?"

"It does, but it's the only thing I've been able to come up with since –"

"Yeah – hang on. I think I hear Harry coming back."

Hermione waited impatiently. She cast a Tempus charm and sighed at the late hour. Her sigh turned into a yelp when something large and silvery appeared before her in Snape's room. It was a Patronus – Harry's silver stag lit up the dim little room, and then opened its mouth to speak in her friend's jubilant voice: "Hermione! We've _got_ it! We've got the sword of Gryffindor. The REAL ONE! Ron's just destroyed the locket!" It was followed by loud whooping and cheering that had Hermione Silencing the room lest her parents awaken to Harry's loud voice. She snatched up the twinned parchment and tapped it with her wand.

"Harry!" Her writing was, for once, as untidy as her friend's. "What do you mean? You got the _actual_ sword? From _where_?"

"I found it in a pool in the forest!" Harry wrote back, his scrawl almost incomprehensible. "I was just out walking, and there was this shining silver doe – it might have been a Patronus, I don't know – so I followed it, and it led me to this pool. I saw the sword at the bottom, so I jumped in – it was bloody cold, mind – and grabbed it! It was amazing!"

Hermione frowned deeply to herself, torn between annoyance at her friend's insane wandering in the woods, and her happiness at the fact that they were one Horcrux down, and that they now had the means to destroy the others. She decided to go with happiness, and she and Harry exchanged hurried messages back and forth, marvelling at what had happened. Ron jumped in now and again to add how he'd destroyed the Horcrux, which had put up a frightening display he refused to describe, and which was now thoroughly deceased.

Finally, Hermione shook herself, and told Harry what she'd already said to Ron about their next move.

"You're right," he wrote back. "It's a long shot, but that mark keeps coming up for a reason. Ron and I'll go and ask him about it in the next day or so."

"Be – "

"Careful, yes, I know."

"Seriously, Harry. I know that Mr. Lovegood has been very supportive so far – the Quibbler has been publishing nothing but positive stories about you – but you've got to be prepared for anything. You-Know-Who planned for you to visit Godric's Hollow. You never know – "

"I know, 'Mione, I know. We'll try for the day after tomorrow. I figure we'll plan a bit, take a few precautions, and then go for it."

"Ok, Harry. I'll probably be back at Hogwarts by then, so I might not get any messages right away, but please do let me know how things go."

"Will do."

* * *

It was two days later when the knock came at the door. No, not a knock. Hermione almost dropped the plate she was drying upon hearing the loud series of thumps coming from the front door.

"What was that?"

"Ah, that professor of yours must be here," her father answered. He took his hands out of the soapy water and dried them on the towel Hermione still held.  
"Does he always knock so –"

The sound came again: two loud knocks followed by a huge thump.

"We figured it out ages ago. It's the rhythm to "We Will Rock You" by Queen. Professor Snape does it three times in a row and we know it's him."

"What if…" Hermione stopped as the sound came for a third time. "What if it's _not_ him?"

"He gave us instructions to go down cellar if ever we think there's a problem. He didn't let us down there for the longest time, but he said it's rigged it up special now so that it'll protect us. It's like a panic room, but magic."

Her father left her standing dumbfounded as he strode down the hall towards the front door. Her mother came back into the kitchen from the dining room, a vase of the enchanted forget-me-nots clutched in her hands.

"Ah, I suppose it was too much to ask for one more day together," she said to Hermione as she set the vase down.

"This is more than I ever expected," Hermione answered, giving her mother a hug.

She'd been expecting Snape for days now; her bag was already packed and by the door, the twinned parchment and the Map were stowed safely in an inner pocket, and her wand was always up her sleeve. It had been a wonderful handful of days, and now Hermione dreaded returning to Hogwarts – to the Carrows, and the pressures of the DA, and especially to the oddly stimulating lessons with Snape.

She pulled away from her mother as Snape himself entered the kitchen, chatting quietly with her father.

"Professor," her mother said, rushing forward to shake Snape's hand. "What a shame – you just missed dinner. If you'd like, though, I can make up a quick plate of something for you now you're here."

"No, thank you, Dr. Granger," Snape replied. "Your daughter and I should make our way back to Hogwarts at once. I apologize for this abrupt interruption of your evening, and your time together. I would have given warning had it been possible."

Hermione wasn't surprised at his seeming kindness after all of her parents' stories about him, but she did have to tuck away her incredulity at hearing Snape address her mother with such deference. He turned to her, and Hermione quickly brought up her Mind's Eye.

"We don't have much time, Miss Granger. I'll wait for you outside."

He shook hands once more with each of Hermione's parents, and then left the way he'd come, pausing only to pick up Hermione's rucksack from where it lay by the door.

* * *

She brushed the tears away impatiently after she closed the front door behind her. The house looked as ramshackle and horrid as ever, but knowing that her parents stayed warm and happy within, where Snape had made a lovely haven for them, made Hermione long to throw the door open and run back inside. She shook her head slowly to herself, before turning to find Snape at the bottom of the porch steps. His face reflected the full moon as he peered up at her. He was pale, as always, but with dark circles etched beneath his eyes.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

Hermione descended slowly and paused on the last stair, where she stood level with him.

"No," she said frankly.

He nodded, examining her face carefully.

"I'm – " she shook her head. "I wasn't ready in September, when I didn't know what to expect. I'm even less ready now when – " she cut herself off, and brushed a last tear from the corner of one eye.

"When you do know what to expect."

His dark gaze never left her face, and Hermione found herself smiling at him, a bleary, watery smile. It was odd to see him back here, to feel so familiar around him on this now-common ground, and to know that this tenuous cordiality between them would evaporate as soon as he Apparated them back to the castle.

"I wish this could all be different," she said before she could stop herself.

"As do I." He spoke the words so quietly, so low, that Hermione barely registered them. "Come."

She allowed him to lead her out of the little front yard, down the back alley, and then – by the force of his shadowy magic – to the Hogwarts she now dreaded.

* * *

It didn't take long for the peace she'd felt in her parents' presence at Spinner's End to dissipate. After getting back to her little bedchamber in the Room of Requirement, Hermione spoke to Harry and Ron. They updated her on the nonsense Xenophilius Lovegood had told them, and then they told her that Luna had been kidnapped by Death Eaters.

"How?" Hermione demanded immediately. " _When_?"

"We're not sure," Harry scrawled back. "I think it was recently enough – probably right after she got on the Express. You saw her leave Hogwarts on the Map, right?"

"Of course. I made sure everyone left the castle and grounds safely."

"But you've not heard back from anyone over the hols, have you?"

Hermione paused for a moment, biting her lip.

"No. But I figured that if there were any issues, one of the DA would have contacted me."

"Except that you're pretty much at enemy central, aren't you? And they wouldn't know how to get you a message safely."

He was right, of course, and this was something Hermione hadn't quite foreseen. A frisson raced down her spine as she wondered what other circumstances she'd failed to foresee.

"This is terrible," Hermione wrote. "Who did you say saw you leave Lovegood's house?"

"Two Death Eaters, I heard the name Travers for sure. And Selwyn, I think. They didn't see Ron, though. We'd agreed that he would wear the Cloak in case of an emergency so that no one would have grounds to go after his family."

"Yes, I remember going over that with you," Hermione answered. "But Luna's father didn't tell you anything else about where she was?"

"No. There wasn't any time to ask questions, Hermione. It all happened fast, and we had to get away."

"Of course. I just… I don't know where this leaves me and the DA."

Harry's writing was replaced by Ron's loopy hand.

"It's escalating, 'Mione. I know things haven't been easy over there, but I think it might get harder. Lovegood said they took Luna because of what he was writing in the Quibbler, and Harry and me saw a new edition he was printing. It had the usual 'Undesirable Number One' bollocks all over it. Be very careful."

Hermione nodded to herself, thinking rapidly of Hagrid's idea for a Support Harry Potter Party. She signed off soon after, and took up the Marauder's Map and saw right away that Snape was in his office. Hermione jumped up. _I'll go see him. I'll ask him exactly what happened to Luna, and I'll demand_ – what? What could she demand? Assurances that the other students wouldn't face similar fates? Although the DA could protect its members from some of the casual violence of the Carrows, they couldn't do all that much if the Death Eaters decided to target specific members for capture. They were sitting ducks. And if she confronted Snape about Luna now, he'd know that she'd gotten intelligence from outside of Hogwarts. She shook her head to herself.

But she needed to do something with all of this pent-up energy – all of this panic and anger and helplessness. She walked out into the larger Room of Requirement and started pacing in the DA headquarters, which quickly elongated into the Room of Hidden Things. It was beyond frustrating: one of her friends, and one of the most prominent leaders in the DA, no less, had been kidnapped and might be facing torture, extortion, possibly even execution. And Hermione could do nothing. And it could – it _would_ happen again. She knew this in her bones. And they had _nothing_.

She looked around the Room again, realising that her last thought wasn't entirely true…

* * *

A/N 2: It is good to be back! I'm not sure when the next chapter will drop, but I will be working on this story steadily again from now on. Thank you all for your patience.

A/N 3: I missed you guys :D


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: I have the best readers. Thank you all so much for your lovely, lovely reviews. Special thanks to those who don't sign in/don't have private messaging enabled - I can't PM you, but I do appreciate each and every one of your reviews.

* * *

Chapter 22

"It's _so_ good to see you, 'Mione," Ginny said, still engulfing Hermione in a bear hug.

"You too, Ginny."

"We _really_ missed you at the Burrow. It wasn't at all the same without you and – well, you know."

Hermione looked over Ginny's shoulder at where Neville stood, shifting his feet uncomfortably. They were in the Great Hall, and Hermione worried that this reunion might cause a scene. She gave Ginny an extra squeeze and stepped away to greet Neville properly.

"We have a lot to discuss," Hermione said a moment later, taking a seat between her two friends. "What with the new developments on the Hogwarts Express."

"You know," Ginny whispered, her eyes racing to Hermione's. "About Luna. How? I – I didn't think I'd be able to get you a message safely, so – "

"Yes, I know," Hermione interrupted, her voice low. She glanced around and caught Malfoy's eye as he slid past the Gryffindor table. He nodded slightly. She returned the subtle acknowledgement, and his eyes narrowed. She turned back to Ginny. "I can't tell you how I know, but I'm aware that she was taken. I want to hear all about it – _later_. We'll do the usual for now," Hermione gestured around at their fellow Gryffindors, "and then meet up in the Room for debriefing."

They ate quickly, with Hermione, Neville and Ginny each taking it in turns to gently rebuff any DA members who asked after Luna. The atmosphere in the Great Hall was subdued, with the exception of a small group of Slytherins comprising of Pansy Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle and a visibly reluctant Malfoy. Snape did not make an announcement at the end of the Feast, and everyone adjourned quickly. Hermione slipped away from her friends and followed Malfoy out of the Great Hall at a safe distance.

* * *

The three of them stood in the middle of the DA Headquarters in a small, tight circle. They were a pale, sad trio in the vast space, and Hermione reach out to grasp each of her companions tightly by the shoulder. They looked at her, her own despair written across their faces.

"I've had a while to think about this," Hermione said at last. She took a deep breath and released her friends, stepped back from them and straightened her spine. "We could keep reasonably safe before. It wasn't perfect by any means, but at least we could keep each other…" she trailed off. Ginny nodded slowly, and Neville brushed a tear from the corner of his eye. Hermione took another deep breath and continued: "It's time now. With what happened to Luna… We have no choice." She gave a fierce, hard grin. "We are now officially fighting back."

Ginny met Hermione's eyes, and for once Hermione was able to return the blazing brightness she found in her friend. Neville gave a great sniff and threw his arms around Hermione. Ginny followed suit, and the three held one another fast for a long moment.

"What will we do first?" Ginny asked after they broke apart.

"We will reframe our mission," Hermione answered. "Where before we just wanted to have one another's backs, we let the Carrows – the _Death Eaters_ – set the terms. Not anymore. They've shown that they are not above kidnapping students in order to subdue support for Harry. By taking one of our own, they've declared war on the DA. We declare war in return. Neville," she turned to the young man, "pick out a team of fighters. You are now in charge of all armed conflict against the Carrows, Filch, and the junior Death Eaters."

Neville frowned.

"You mean Parkinson and her lot?"

"Exactly. I want you to recruit enough strong fighters to counter everything they throw at us. We _will_ go on the offensive, but we're going to be very, very careful about it. Our goal is not retaliation – we have to be clear on that from this point forward – our goal is to slowly but significantly cut their resources, and we will pick our battles very carefully. We want to gather intelligence for the time being and then plan out how we will move forward. _That_ –" she turned to Ginny, "is where you come in. You will consolidate all of our allies – the faculty, of course, but especially the ghosts and portraits and students. I want a network of informants to get us as much information as possible. We will know what goes on in the Slytherin Common Room. We will hear what the Carrows talk to one another about. We will know what the junior DEs are planning. In short, we will know _everything_."

Ginny, who had been nodding along, narrowed her eyes.

"How am I supposed to do that, 'Mione… I don't exactly have a ton of stuff to work with here."

"I know," Hermione said, smiling. "That's why we're going to change this Room again. It's not just our headquarters anymore. I want it to be our intelligence hub, with a space for paintings and ghosts to come in and submit information, and a bunker for those of us who aren't safe to circulate in the castle anymore. Neville?"

"I…" he trailed off after a moment, peering around the Room owlishly, "you want some DA members to _live_ here?"

"That's right. You're in charge of changing the Room and closing any loopholes. By the time we adjourn tonight, we'll have made a list of at-risk members. I'm thinking those related to any prominent members of the Light, and especially to the Order of the Phoenix. I don't think they need to stay in here all the time yet, but I want them here at night, and we will be following their movements closely on the Map to make sure they're not ambushed. They'll retreat here as needed."

" _We_ will be following them on the Map?" Ginny asked, tilting her head to the side.

"That's right," Hermione smiled. "We will now have someone monitoring the Map at all times. That will be part of your lookout, Ginny. It's our best asset, so I want to use it more effectively. Other than when I'm out in the castle on my own, I want the Map it to stay in the Room at all times – I'll put a spell on it to that effect. I want you to use it as part of your mission."

"Are you…" Ginny trailed off – it was the first time Hermione had ever seen the younger girl blush. "Even after…"

" _Yes_ ," Hermione said firmly. "I trust you Ginny. And you, Neville. We are together in this no matter what."

"And what about you?" Neville asked after a moment.

"I will coordinate the DA as usual," Hermione said, grimly, "and I will handle Professor Snape. Starting tonight, in fact. But first," Hermione checked her watch, "we have someone else who needs to join our inner circle."

Neville and Ginny exchanged puzzled looks. Hermione walked to the door, but paused.

"Neither of you are to attack him, understood?"

Both of her friends frowned, but then they nodded. Hermione swung the door open, and Malfoy stepped into the DA headquarters, his empty hands raised in surrender. She shut the door quickly after him.

"Granger," he said.

"What the _fuck_ is he doing here?" Ginny demanded.

"Get out!" Neville shouted.

"Nice to see you too," Malfoy said sarcastically, his eyes glinting with faint amusement.

"Shut it, Malfoy," Hermione said, turning her back on the smirking Slytherin. "He's here for a very good reason," she told her friends, both of whom had their wands pointed behind her at Malfoy.

"That's right. I come in peace."

"Hermione," Neville said, "we can't have him in here. He _can't_ be trusted."

"I agree," she answered immediately. "And we won't trust him. Which is why you're to keep your wands on him throughout this meeting."

"Oh _come on_ ," Malfoy whined.

"Shut it," Hermione said again. She waved her friends to take a seat, and Malfoy followed suit. She sat down last, between her friends and Malfoy. She nodded at the latter to begin.

"Right," he said, relaxing back into his chair as though he owned the place. "I'm here in peace. The Carrows know about the DA, but they don't know just how organized you lot are. They don't realise that you've recruited most of the faculty and some of the portraits. They know about the ghosts, of course, but that was obvious enough for even them to realise."

"Is this supposed to be _valuable_ information?" Ginny asked scathingly. "Because we _know_ all of this already, you twit."

Malfoy sneered before continuing as though he hadn't heard her.

"The Carrows are organising their own force to counter the DA. It'll be just like the Inquisitorial Squad, but I doubt they'll call it that, or give the members badges just yet. Did you know about _that_?" He shot the last at Ginny, who just glared in return. "Now, many members of Slytherin are interested in helping the Carrows. I can give you list of names. Many more are only interested in finishing out the year and keeping their heads down. A minority… want to help the DA."

"Bollocks," Neville interjected forcefully.  
"No," Malfoy answered with a faint, grim smile. "There are those of us who don't want to sit still while students are tortured and forced to torture others. There are those of us who – " he cut himself off. "The DA could use members of Slytherin. Having us in your corner would be an advantage even you two," he gestured elegantly at Ginny and Neville, "can't deny. I'm not saying you have to trust us; I know that the DA has ways of keeping its members… compliant. Also, any further aid from me comes with this as a price."

"'Mione, I really don't – "

Hermione held up a hand to forestall Ginny, and smiled gently.

"That's the other thing I'll be doing from now on. I will liaise with the Slytherins and Malfoy. I will decide on who to recruit to the DA, and who to keep at arm's length. You realise," she turned to Malfoy, "that most of the castle – if not the castle _itself_ at this point – is on our side. If any of your people betray us, there _will_ be a reckoning."

Hermione expected him to bristle at the threat, but he just nodded.

"Understood."

"Ok then," Hermione said, "let's get to that list of names, shall we?"

* * *

Hours later, Hermione ushered Malfoy to the door. Neville and Ginny conversed in an undertone behind them, and Malfoy held out a hand to keep the door open when Hermione made to close it.

"I know where Lovegood is," he whispered.

Hermione felt herself draw in a quick breath.

"Is she…" Hermione's stomach turned, and she decided to ask a different question. "Where is she?"

"She's alive, yes," Malfoy said, almost reading her thoughts. "She's at Malfoy Manor. I can..." he glanced behind her to ascertain that Ginny and Neville were still deep in discussion, "I can try to keep track of how she's keeping."

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"And what do you want in return?"

"Consider it another peace offering," Malfoy said.

Without another word, he spun on his heel and left.

She braced herself, and took a close look at the Marauder's Map before looking back to her friends.

"Right," she said. "I'm off, then."

"What?" Ginny asked. "Where?"

"Like I said, I have to deal with Snape, and I want to discuss Luna with him as soon as possible."

"Be very careful, Hermione," Neville said.

"I will."

"Do you…" Ginny shuffled a little uncomfortably, "do you want us to watch you on the Map. Only, I don't want…"

"No. I'm the only member of the DA who is permitted to move about the castle alone, and I'll need the Map when I'm doing so. He's not in his office tonight, so I'll need it to find him as well."

Ginny frowned.

"Where is he?"

"In the Forbidden Forest."

* * *

She found Snape at the edge of the Forest, near Dumbledore's tomb. He looked unsurprised to see her striding through the snow.

"Granger," he said quietly, staring down at the clean white marble encasing the previous Headmaster.

"I need to talk to you."

"And you may do so," he turned away from her and strode off, his voice trailing behind him, "at our meeting this Friday."

He was already several meters away from her; Hermione hurried to catch him up.

"No," she snapped. "I need to talk to you _now_."

He kept on walking, and she followed, realising that they were already amongst the trees. She paused when Snape detoured abruptly off the path and headed into the thicket. It was well after dark, and she could barely see his outline ahead of her. She carried on, lighting her wand tip.

"Stop, won't you?" she snarled at last, some minutes later when they reached a small clearing in the trees. She was half out of breath from keeping up with his long, confident strides through the undergrowth. She peered around warily, disliking being this deep in the Forbidden Forest.

To her surprise, Snape did stop. He whirled around in the moonlit glade, leaned against a tree, and put a cigarette into his mouth. Hermione caught the familiar scent of woodsmoke when he exhaled a plume of vapour into the cold air.

"You smoke?" she blurted, too surprised to help herself.

He sneered.

"Obviously. What do you want?"

"I…" Hermione trailed off. It was as she'd expected, all those days ago: the limited but very real cordiality between herself and Snape over Christmas had evaporated. She felt the loss somewhere in her chest, but pressed on quickly before his impatience grew. "I want to discuss Luna Lovegood's kidnapping with you."

His expression did not change.

"What about it?" he asked after he inhaled again, the tip of the cigarette burning brightly in the gloom.

"I want you to tell me where she is. And how she is. And how many more students they intend to…" she trailed off again; he was staring at her, his eyes totally void of emotion, the cigarette in his hand rapidly turning to ash.

"And what makes you think I owe you answers to any of those questions?"

"I'm Head Girl. And you've reiterated _several_ times that I need to keep the students safe. How can I be expected to do that when any of us could be snatched from Hogwarts at any given time?" She took a step closer so that she stood in the middle of the clearing. She asked her next question in an undertone, "How could you let this happen?"

Snape flicked the cigarette away into the snow, where it died with a sizzle. He looked up at the moon for a moment, and Hermione caught her breath at how sharply the faint light illuminated his face. He turned to her, and stepped closer.

"And how could I have stopped it?"

"You… you would have if you could have?"

"That is a moot point, Granger."

"It _isn't_."

"You ask questions you know I cannot answer." His eyes narrowed as he continued to regard her. "You demand answers you know I cannot give you."

"You can," she said. "Please."

His eyes, fixed on her own, trailed down her face and settled on her mouth, before he looked away completely.

"Your lips are turning blue. How many times do I have to tell you to dress appropriately for cold weather?"

He turned away, gesturing vaguely in the direction of Hogwarts, and Hermione followed him back to the castle, a thousand more questions burning in her chest.


	23. Chapter 23

A/N 1: Now let's get back to what I enjoy most about writing this story...

* * *

Chapter 23

Hermione had felt naked, _wrong_ without the Map pressed against her waist in her inner pocket all week. But it had been right to leave it with Ginny in the Room of Requirement, tacked to the wall of the DA's newly-formed information hub. The Map had plenty of company there: several dozen portraits, a blank wall for the exclusive use of the castle ghosts to come through, and Ginny, Parvati Patil, Lavender Brown, and Terry Boot rotating shifts, watching over the castle. Neville and his band of fighters had patrolled in pairs, be alerted by the new term's class schedules if any DA members ran into the Carrows, Filch or any of the DEs. They hadn't needed to mobilize; it had been an unsettlingly uneventful week. And now, with the map once more in her possession, Hermione still felt unsettled; she could almost feel all the eyes and ears of the castle around her, which she suspected might be largely because Phineas Nigellus was keeping pace with her as she walked towards the Headmaster's office for their first lesson of the New Year.

"Why are you here, again?" she huffed. She was nervous enough to be attending her first lesson of the year with Snape – doubly nervous because, like in the previous lesson, she had a question for him. Putting it from her mind – _you've rehearsed it_ enough, _you silly girl,_ _you've made your decision_ – she glanced at the portrait. "You have your own assignment, just like all of the other portraits do."

"What, spying on the Slytherin Common Room? I'd rather watch Kreacher poke around his nasty little hidey-hole at Grimmauld Place. _You_ are much more interesting."

"And you're not following me on someone _else's_ orders?" Hermione demanded, suspicion pricking at the back of her neck. "Because it seems to me that all of the portraits of the Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts are sworn to aid and obey the sitting Headmaster."

"You've seen the regard Professor Snape affords us," Phineas answered sufferingly. "Not even allowed to sit in on meetings with his _students_. Being continually cast out, and with _very_ little ceremony, I might add."

"Student _-s_?" Hermione asked, emphasizing the plural. "How many students does he meet with regularly?"

"There's you, of course, and one other."

And suddenly she remembered, the answer coming back like a distant echo from that very first meeting all that time ago.

"Malfoy." The portrait nodded as they carried on up a dark corridor. "He's still seeing Professor Snape alone every week, then."

 _Yet another thing for me to investigate_.

"Indeed. Honestly, the Malfoy heir and the Headmaster are both such taciturn, dull types lately that I believe their meetings must be quite tedious. _You_ , on the other hand, bring out something quite different in our erstwhile Professor Snape."

"What do you mean?"

Phineas just grinned mischievously and swept an elegant arm at the Gargoyle. They'd arrived.

 _Here we go again_ , Hermione thought, giving her Mind's Eye a quick checking over. All systems were a go, and she instructed herself for what felt like the thousandth time to keep her emotions to herself, no matter what Snape's answer to her question might be.

"We'll finish this conversation later," Hermione told Phineas. "Sir," she added hastily.

The sharp little man just rolled his eyes, and Hermione gave the Gargoyle the password - _Agent Orange, a cancer-causing chemical weapon used during the American war with Vietnam… is it a band as well?_ And climbed up the staircase that appeared.

Snape stood in the centre of the circular room with his hands behind his back. He gave no greeting or acknowledgment, but he met Hermione's eyes, and raised his eyebrows slightly.

 _It's like he already expects it. Like he already knows I've got something to ask._

"Professor," she said, planting her feet firmly so that she stood directly in front of him.

"Miss Granger."

"I wonder if we might have a discussion this evening, before we start the lesson."

"A discussion regarding…?"

"Regarding our arrangement."

Snape cocked his head to the side slightly and regarded her warily.

"What about it?" he asked with a hint of a sneer.

"I have a… proposal for you," Hermione said, struggling to mirror the same confidence he always displayed at moments such as these. _It's so easy for him_ , she thought compulsively, _he just sneers and then he's right back to where –_

"Indeed?" Snape said, halting her train of thought. "Then, Miss Granger, I am all rapt attention."

It was impossible to tell if he was being sarcastic; his face was clear of emotion, and as he strode away from her and to his desk, Hermione saw the same economy in his movements as always. He waved his wand, and two chairs arranged themselves before the desk.

"Proceed," the dark man said after Hermione sat down.

"Right," she said. She straightened her back, and squared her shoulders. "Since I became aware of your use of the Pensieve, I have been contemplating our respective missions within our arrangement. Since you want to discover particular, deeply-hidden memories from me, and since you hide similar memories of your own in the Pensieve, you have a serious advantage, especially considering our mutual ability to use inversion."

Hermione stopped there and looked at Snape, who raised his eyebrows again. She took that as a signal to continue.

"Also, you have said several times now that I am capable of…" Hermione blushed a little, and strained to strip her voice of inflection, "holding my own in our exchanges. Not every time, of course, but I'm getting there. I realise now, however, that there must be a ceiling to my success in Occlumency and especially in Legilimency because of how you prepare for our lessons. There might be a similar ceiling to your success as well."

She squirmed a little, looked down at her clenched hands, and then glanced up at Snape, who sat tracing his mouth with the tip of his index finger. He regarded her steadily, and Hermione dropped her eyes again, squashing her nervousness and other useless feelings into a drawer in her Mind's Eye. _Shut up. Stop reacting to him,_ she told herself. And then she almost laughed: _It would be easier to stop breathing._

He studied her for a few more uncomfortable moments, and then heaved a short, sharp sigh.

"If I understand your rather roundabout proposal, you wish me to cease using the Pensieve before our meetings."

"Yes, sir."

"And _what_ could possibly induce me to give up such an advantage?" He glared down his nose at her, sneering openly now. "Unless you have something on offer, girl, you are wasting my time."

"I thought it was rather obvious," Hermione snapped, nettled by his condescending tone. _Stop. He's unsettling you on purpose._ She composed herself again before pressing on. "You stop putting your sensitive memories into the Pensieve. You must then use all of your Occlumency faculties during our lessons, making it so that I am able to fully use all of my skills as a Legilimens when I reverse or invert a psychic attack. It will also be useful to me to observe an Occlumens of your calibre using his full range of skill. In return, you will know that I will be engaging with your psyche as deeply and effectively as I can…" Hermione felt herself blushing again. "I would be leaving myself open to deeper and more effective inversion as a result."

Snape leaned forward in his chair. In the low candlelight of his office, he looked intent and utterly open, the expression a stark contrast to the dangerous exasperation of moments before.

"Why would you purposefully expose yourself to that, Granger?" he asked in an undertone. " _What_ exactly do you hope to find inside the recesses of my mind?"

"I… I don't have to tell you that."

His manner changed, and he sat back, away from her. He looked at her appraisingly now, and Hermione felt a prickle of fear in her gut. _This might have been a bad idea_ …

"No, you do not. But I suspect that your prying questions of late might be at the core of your little _proposal_."

"You needn't sneer," Hermione blurted. She almost apologised for her cheek, but stopped herself when the dark man gave her a small, queer smile.

"I accept your proposal, with a warning," he said. "You are raising the stakes here. This is not my idea, and I admit that I am hesitant to enter into this new arrangement." He ran a hand through his black hair, his eyes never leaving hers. "However, as we briefly discussed over the holidays, you have indeed proved a good study of Occlumency. So much so that I am equally as pleased as I am hesitant at the opportunity you present."

"Why… why are you hesitant?" Hermione asked, the fear gone, and an odd, unfastened feeling opening in her chest.

"Because, Granger, both our skins are truly in the game now."

* * *

Snape spent the next twenty minutes behind his desk, removing strand after strand of memory from the Pensieve and replacing it in his mind. Hermione watched him carefully, fascinated by the huge volume of psychic material he'd been keeping from her. When he was done, he fell into the chair behind the desk, placed his head in his hands, and remained there, a dark, quiescent figure.

Hermione gave him a minute, then another, and then she stepped forward.

"Sir?" she asked, hesitantly. "Snape?"

The man breathed deeply, quietly. He did not answer. Hermione found herself making her way around his desk without considering what she did. She was at his side a moment later, her hand on his slumped shoulder.

"Are you all right?" she asked, bending forward to peer around the curtain of his hair and into his face.

He sat up suddenly, and Hermione pulled her hand back as though he'd burned her. He eyed her warily from his seated position.

"What do you think you are doing?" he hissed.

He looked pale. And angry.

"I was…" Hermione trailed off, confused and a little hurt. "I was concerned. You just… you seemed so…"

"Do you think that it is _easy_ to remove and then return sensitive – sometimes _agonizing_ – memories, you stupid girl?"

The poisonous words shocked her, but they were said in a cold, toneless voice that had Hermione straightening up and standing her ground. She answered him in kind:

"And do you think it is _easy_ to sit by and watch you suffering, you stupid man?"

Snape narrowed his eyes and rose from the chair so that he towered over her. He stepped to the side, and Hermione realised that he now crowded her against the desk. She felt herself cowering slightly at his proximity, at the anger blazing down at her from his black eyes. _No_ , she thought, trying to calm herself as he stepped even closer, _he's not angry. This is something else._

"Perhaps you can contain your preposterous emotional outbursts long enough to remember that I am your _teacher_."

Hermione sneered, and Snape's eyes darted over her face, from her eyes to her mouth, and back, before a curtain of his hair fell forward to obscure his expression. She felt righteous opposition flowing through her.

"No," she said, raising her chin. "You stopped being my teacher the moment you showed up at my door with your first _proposal_. You are my _captor_. Don't pretend that this is even _close_ to anything else, Snape." She reached up and, in one of those moments of insanity this man had a particular skill at inciting in her, Hermione gathered the greasy hair that had fallen into his face and gently tucked it behind his ear. Snape's eyes widened. "If you're shamed by my kindness to you, that is _your_ problem." Hermione let her hand trail down through his hair, which felt softer and cleaner than she'd thought it would. She dropped her hand. "But you are _not_ my teacher."

The dark man's nostrils flared as he stared down at her, his eyes glinting. Hermione looked back at him, sure of herself at that moment, sure of what she was at her core. He inhaled to speak and his black-clad chest brushed hers.

"You should not…" he said, but he couldn't seem to carry on. He looked away, out the window, and then stepped back, his hair falling into his face once more. "You should not be… kind… to me, Granger."

"Maybe not," she answered. "But that's up to me." She looked him over – he seemed so subdued now. "Are you… will we be able to have a lesson this evening? That is, you seem a little – "

"Tell me what Sentinella says about the use of a Pensieve, Miss Granger," Snape said, his voice heavy, eyes still downcast. "Tell me how you will verify in future that I have not used it."

Hermione smiled at him, but he didn't see it. So she answered his question. And they carried on.

* * *

A/N 2: Next chappy might be a few days later than usual, but it's a-coming.

A/N 3: Bonus points to any reviewers who catch the paraphrase I've pulled from another sshg fanfic writer, scumblackentropy. Shout out to her and her devastating opus Self Slain Gods on Strange Altars.


	24. Chapter 24

A/N 1: I'm going to aim for post-weekend updates from now on (NZ time, as always).

* * *

Chapter 24

"Are you all right, Hermione?" Ginny asked when she returned from her meeting with Snape. "You look pale."

"I'm fine, yes," she answered, sinking into one of the many chairs in the DA headquarters in the Room of Requirement. "Just a little tired, I guess."

Ginny gave her a sidelong glance.

"What exactly are you and Snape getting up to all these evenings you spend together?"

"We don't 'spend them together,'" Hermione said, feeling a little exasperated. "We just discuss how the school is running."

"For three hours at a go?"

Hermione glared at her friend.

"Sometimes our discussions get… exhaustive."

Ginny continued to look sceptical, but she let the conversation drop. Hermione looked down at her hands, where they gripped the edges of the chair. The rest of the lesson had been _different_. Snape's Mind's Eye had seemed larger when Hermione had seen it during the inversions she'd pulled off, and his defences had been more visible as well, but she'd gotten the sense that he'd let her in further than usual on purpose. She'd seen more of his childhood than ever before, and now she couldn't quite shake the sad scenes that had played out in the shabby house on Spinner's End.

"How was everything in here?" she asked Ginny, determined to put the dark man from her thoughts.

"Very well. I think we've got everything pretty coordinated. There'll always be that lag, though, between what we find out is happening around the castle and what we can do."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully.

"Of course. But, Neville's teams will be circulating the castle throughout the day, so hopefully they'll catch sight of anything untoward quickly enough. And I don't think we'll have issues with DA members being out of bed at night."

"Hopefully not, now that Harry and Ron aren't here," Ginny answered with a sad, slightly wistful smile.

Hermione leaned forward and patted the younger girl's hand.

"I miss them too," she said.

Then she straightened up, and the two dived into a discussion on what Ginny had gathered through the vast intelligence network they were putting together. They had been successful at painting an overall picture of the school's warring factions for the most part, but there was a particular conversation between the Carrows and the Junior DEs that eluded the DA.

"It's something to do with the seventh years," Ginny said, biting her lower lip in an uncharacteristic display of worry. "We've added to the portrait rotation in the Slytherin Common Room, but we can't do much more without getting really obvious. And we've not been able to get eyes into either of the Carrows' offices yet."

"That is a problem," Hermione said, feeling a wave of nausea at the thought of what the Death Eater siblings might be planning. "What about the ghosts? Maybe they can spy invisibly in their offices? Have you talked to Nick about it?"

"Of course I have," Ginny said without heat. "But it turns out that the ghosts aren't _allowed_ in the teachers' offices - it's a structural thing of the castle itself to preserve privacy or something. They have to use passwords just like the rest of us, and the Carrows are being paranoid about their passwords."

"Then there's only one other way to get that information," Hermione said firmly.

Ginny shook her head vigourously.

"No way, 'Mione. We can't trust him."

"But he is attending those meetings in their offices?"

"Yes," Ginny admitted reluctantly.

"That settles it then," Hermione said resolutely, "I'll talk to Malfoy after Dark Arts tomorrow, and we'll see if he'll turn spy."

* * *

Hermione sat down in her usual front-row seat in the first Dark Arts class of the term, her stomach in knots. _We can plan for attacks in the halls, on the grounds, even on the train… but how would we handle this, even if did know what was coming?_ Their bold DA planning now threw this problem into sharp relief, particularly with Carrow standing before them, his small menacing eyes alighting on each student in turn. Hermione turned and tried to catch Malfoy's eye, but he sat low in his chair, his eyes focused intently on a piece of blank parchment on his desk.

When everyone was seated, Carrow turned and waved his wand at the blackboard. His blocky writing appeared instantly: _How to perform the Cruciatus Curse_. The class took a collective, shuddering breath, and the Death Eater grinned at them.

"Tha's right," he intoned, prowling down the centre aisle between the desks. "We'll be steppin' things up in this here class."

She couldn't help it; Hermione shot her hand up as Carrow made his way back down the aisle. He stopped beside her desk. Hermione looked up at him, beyond her raised hand, which shook in the air slightly. He glared down at her, his cruel eyes at odds with his wide grin.

"Mudblood-that-was?" Carrow said, calling on her in his usual manner.

"If I remember correctly," Hermione said, struggling to keep her voice calm and polite, "your syllabus did not feature the Unforgivable Curses until the end of summer term."

"Tha's right," he said again, his wolfish grin widening further as he stared at Hermione.

"Why are we learning them now, then?" she demanded.

"Well, I'll tell you, Mudblood-that-was." Carrow turned his back on her to return to the front of the class as he spoke. "My sister, Professor Carrow, and I talked it over, and we think that you's all need some help in discipline. And the Dark Lord happens to agree. A lot of students in this here school think they can lark about doin' what they please, _thinkin'_ what they please. _We_ will be showing them students a new side of Hogwarts this term – and by that I mean _all_ of us."

Hermione didn't raise her hand this time. His words seemed to strike her core, and she responded before thinking.

"So you expect us to discipline one another?" she asked, her voice coming out slightly higher than usual. "Using _torture_?"

"Penny for the smart lass," Carrow crowed. He stalked forward again until he stood in front of Hermione's desk. "And you'll go first, I think, for talkin' out of turn in my class."

" _No_!" Neville shouted immediately, jumping up from his desk so abruptly that his chair flew backwards.

Carrow was ready for him: he turned his wand on Neville so fast that all Hermione could do was watch as the Death Eater screamed "Crucio!" and bore down on her friend. Neville slammed his head into the desk before falling to writhe on floor. Hermione was on her feet, wand drawn, but she hesitated and glanced over her shoulder. The Slytherins were on their feet as well, their wands pointing collectively at Hermione. She met Malfoy's eyes, and he gave a slight shake of his head. _They're prepared for this_ , she thought numbly, and lowered her wand. _This is what Ginny couldn't see going on in their offices. They planned this, right down to who they would torture first. And Luna's charm for our duels will never work for faking the Cruciatus.._.

It seemed to go one for ages, Neville's screams echoing around the room, but it couldn't have lasted longer than a minute. Finally, Carrow lowered his wand, and Seamus helped Neville to slump back down into his chair.

"Front and centre, Mudblood-that-was," Carrow snarled, his wand still pointing at Neville, "or he gets another round."

She moved forward, her eyes still on her friend, who looked almost unconscious as he leaned heavily against Seamus. Hermione stood as straight and tall as she could beside Carrow, and made eye contact with each DA member in the classroom in turn, giving them each a minute shake of her head, and thinking it at each of them, although she knew they couldn't possible hear her: _do nothing. Follow standing instructions. We'll be alright_. Lavender and Parvati were crying openly, Seamus's lip quivered, and Neville glared past her at Carrow, his eyes only half open, a trickle of blood running down his face from where he'd hit his head against his desk. Hermione pulled up her Mind's Eye and engaged the interface, storing away her roiling emotions – she couldn't stop what was about to happen, but perhaps she could prepare for it.

"Now, who'd like to go firs' for teachin' the Mudblood-that-was a nice little lesson?"

Hermione watched, her dismay carefully contained, as Crabbe's hand shot up first, followed quickly by Goyle's, then Pansy Parkinson's. She caught Malfoy's eye, but he turned away from her, seemingly intent on writing notes on his piece of parchment. Carrow called on Crabbe, who walked to the front of the classroom quickly, a perverse, terrifying smile plastered to his face.

"Now, wha' you wanna do…" Carrow said, clapping his hands onto Crabbe's shoulders in a friendly display.

Hermione stopped listening as he told Crabbe to focus his hatred, anger, and other negative emotions into the spell to achieve maximum pain for the victim – for _her_. Instead, she breathed slowly, in and out, illuminating each of her chakras in turn as she always did before her lessons with Snape. She thought of the Headmaster now, of his dark eyes on hers, his dusky magic wrapping around her, his cool mind opening to hers. _I wish… I want…_ she didn't allow the thought to crystallize.

There was no warning except the sudden silence. It couldn't have lasted longer than a second, the time between when Carrow stopped speaking and when Crabbe screamed the incantation, but Hermione made it stretch on and on, sinking into herself. And then –

* * *

"I've got you, 'Mione," Neville said, his soft voice determined, strong despite how shakily he led her down the hallway. Hermione laughed – she couldn't help it. The déjà-vu flowed through her, leaving her feeling absurd yet empty, and utterly unhinged. Her laughter stopped Neville in his tracks, and he looked at her. His eyes were hollow and haunted, with dark circles beneath. The blood that had trickled down from his scalp had dried along one of his cheeks like a dirty, red tear track.

"We… we've done… all this before," Hermione said. She noted distantly that her voice was hoarse and pained from screaming. She looked around, and quickly glimpsed a pale face with a pointed beard in a painting. Her mind swam, and she collapsed against Neville again. She went on anyway, the stubborn thought refusing to dissipate unvoiced. "It's like we've done… exactly all of this before, and we'll just… keep doing it. Forever."

Neville, looking more worried than before, picked up the pace, moving forward clumsily but holding onto her waist even more firmly.

"Let's get you to the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey will sort you out."

But Hermione already knew who would join them in the Hospital Wing. It would play out the same way, like some horrible re-enactment – the same players, the same location, perhaps even the same lines. Only their injuries were different. It was a pattern they'd settled into, and one that would perpetuate itself, she knew, through to the end of the year. And beyond. Unless they changed it somehow.

"Here we are," Neville said, his soft voice nudging Hermione back into the here and now.

It was precisely as she'd predicted, with Madam Pomfrey fussing over them both until a lean, dark figure interrupted her, and Hermione watched the Healer walk away to help Neville.

"Miss Granger?" the voice was low, pitched carefully to include no indication of his feelings.

She was so tired of this. All of this.

She did not look at him. Her folded, white-knuckled hands were more interesting. He was speaking, saying… it didn't matter. Her fingernails were tinged with blue. His presence receded, and she heard another exchange further down the ward, two voices intertwining and blending into white noise. Hermione remained there, her eyes mostly closed, staring at the curves of her fingers, breathing in that shallow, abbreviated way that seemed to slow the burning still racing through her body.

A familiar hand on her upper arm, pulling at her. She closed her eyes completely now, uncaring. Her feet moved, answering the low, urgent voice, despite her determination to ignore it. Warmth engulfed her, the voice said something loud and perfunctory, and arms wrapped around her, anchoring her. The world tilted and turned, and Hermione leaned against the solid figure. She smelled woodsmoke. Too soon, she was moving forward again, and then descending onto something soft.

The voice spoke again, and something small and hard – a glass vial – was pressed into her hand. Opening her eyes hurt too much. She released the vial. It fell with a soft tinkling of breaking glass. The hand was back, sudden and firm, wrapped around her jaw. Another vial, this time pressed to her lips, and an acrid, nasty liquid filling her mouth. The hand descended to massage her throat, forcing her to swallow. She did, gagging a little.

And the room came into sharp, sudden focus. She was in the Headmaster's office, of course, sitting on precisely the same conjured sofa as last summer after her imprisonment in the Ministry of Magic. Snape knelt before her, his intense black eyes searching her face. Without speaking, he handed her another vial. She hesitated for only a moment before drinking its sickly sweet contents. _Dreamless Sleep_ , she realised; it had been months since her last dose, but she recognised the taste. The pain coursing through her nerves, the aftermath of the Cruciatus performed in turn - however assiduously or unwillingly - by each and every student in the Seventh Year Dark Arts class, faded to a dull ache as the potions took hold. Hermione had to clear her throat before speaking.

"Wh-what happened?" she asked, her voice a quiet, shaky whisper. She would fall asleep soon, she knew.

"You were going into shock," Snape answered.

"I…" Hermione sat up, trying to collect herself, despite the redoubling exhaustion. She attempted to pull up her Mind's Eye, and cried out when a sharp pain resounded within her head. She clutched at her forehead, where the pain burned brightest.

"Don't."

Her eyes squeezed themselves shut. She felt Snape's hands on her shoulders, pressing her back down into the couch. She resisted, trying to push his hands away with her own, but he caught her wrists. He was gentle, but insistent. Hermione felt her strength give way, and the dark man laid her down.

"Do not use your Mind's Eye, Granger. Rest now."

"I… I wish –" it was hard to speak, hard to articulate anything within her mind, let alone aloud.

"Tell me."

"I want…" she trailed off, her weak voice choking on a sob.

A warm hand on her cheek, stroking the tears away. Hermione felt herself fading once more, this time into a velvety blackness that held the promise of rest.

* * *

A/N 2: Thank you for all of your reviews! (And, as always, I very greedily demand MORE!)


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Distant voices – _just like last time_ – as though she heard them through a tunnel.

"I _cannot_ abide this. It is too much. It is…" the deep, heated voice trailed off.

"I know, my boy," a painfully familiar voice said, "I know."

"Perhaps we need to keep a closer watch on the girl," a different, sharper voice spoke now. "Monitoring her movements in the halls is clearly not enough if she's to be attacked in her classes."

"And _how_ precisely would I intervene, Phineas, even if I knew when to do so?"

Hermione's curiosity attempted to revive her further, to pull her from the darkness already engulfing her once more.

"You would _not_ intervene," the other voice said quickly. Hermione tried – and failed – to place it. "It is imperative that you keep your head, Severus, now more than ever."

It had been a long time since she'd taken Dreamless Sleep. The resistance she'd built against it over the summer was fading, but Hermione felt herself fading along with it, succumbing, despite a loud, sudden noise. And another.

"You'll wake the girl," a woman's voice spoke this time, "if you carry on throwing things, young man. Calm yourself."

"Would _you_ be calm in such a situation, Dilys?" snarled the deep voice. "Would _you_ be capable of standing by while… while…" the voice broke off, choked by a sharp intake of breath. Hermione felt the pain she heard in that voice echoing within her chest as she descended back into sleep. The voice was barely audible now, and Hermione could no longer strain to hear it. She was on the edge of sleep, and it was barely a whisper that her mind couldn't quite grasp: "It's like _her_ all over again…"

* * *

Hermione awoke hours later. Opening her eyes, she saw the long shadows in the Headmaster's office, and the rising sun through one of the windows. She ached all over – within and without – but sat herself up determinedly and looked around. Snape appeared, crouched down before her.

"How do you feel, Miss Granger?" he asked.

Hermione ignored him and tried to rise from the couch, a hundred thoughts crowding one another through her mind – _was Neville all right? How was the DA reacting to what happened? What time was it, anyway?_ Snape put a hand on her shoulder and Hermione glared at him when he gently pushed her to sit back down.

"Let me _go_ ," she growled, shrugging his hand away. She got unsteadily to her feet, and this time Snape rose alongside her. "I have to – I have to…" she wobbled where she stood, and Hermione had to close her eyes for a moment to steady herself. The dull ache turned into roaring inflammation tearing through her nerves.

"You cannot leave in this state, Granger," the deep voice said from beside her.

He didn't try to push her back down to the couch, but when Hermione opened her eyes once more he'd raised his hands awkwardly, as if preparing to catch her should she collapse. She stared at him, trying to ignore the pain.

"I don't have a choice. I have to…" she trailed off and pressed her palm to her forehead, attempting to counter to the pounding headache. "I've got to see to…"

"Please sit down," he said. "Allow me to at least assess your status before you go."

His voice held a pleading note she'd never heard before – it caught her attention, and Hermione examined Snape carefully. He looked as tired as she felt, and she saw that, despite his apparent composure, rage and something else boiled beneath the flat surface of his black eyes. _Like when he picked me up from the Ministry._ She sank back down onto the couch.

"Thank you," he said, and he sat down before her on a low stool. Their faces were of a height. "How do you feel?"

"I need to check on my friends."

"They are fine," Snape waved a hand dismissively. "How are _you_?"

Hermione glared at him.

"I'm fine too," she said acidly. "Just peachy, actually. Now, unless you'll tell me more about the state of affairs outside this office, may I _go_?"

Snape returned Hermione's glare with interest, but then shrugged.

"Your friends are fine," he repeated. "Mr. Longbottom suffered very little damage from the Curse, and I had Madam Pomfrey give him the same Strengthening Potion I gave you yesterday."

Hermione thought of the torture Neville had undergone – the same Curse that had so debilitated his parents – and she felt like crying.

"And… and the other students from the class?"

"Are all perfectly well."

"Aside from being forced to torture me, of course?"

The man looked away and in a display that both confused and unnerved her, pressed one of his long, elegant hands over his eyes. Obeying some latent instinct, Hermione slipped her hand into his and pulled it down so that her eyes met his. There, she found pain and a resignation that frightened her.

"Snape," she began, still holding onto his hand.

She felt the dark, invigorating magic begin to flow from him as they touched. He continued to look at her. It was hard to carry on sitting in the same attitude when she felt torn between running out of the office to check on Neville and the DA, and throwing herself into the dark man's arms until the pounding in her head and the pain in her nerves subsided. _It would help_ , she realised as Snape's dusky power eased some of the pain coursing through her. _Touching him helps_. She took a deep breath and pressed on.

"Snape, we have to do something about…" she hesitated for a moment, her mind flashing back to the horrifying scene in the Dark Arts classroom, "about what happened yesterday."

His eyes glinted, and the emotions she'd glimpsed seemed to redouble. His other hand covered hers so that he held her hand between both of his. The pain receded so quickly that Hermione gasped. His eyes flew up to meet hers.

"Are you in pain?"

"Yes, but it's…" she trailed off for a moment, feeling the blood rushing to her cheeks and neck. "It feels better when – " she couldn't say it aloud, but she completed the thought in her mind: _when you're touching me_.

Hermione closed her eyes, blocking out Snape and his searching, open expression as thoroughly as she could while she paradoxically deepened the touch by bringing her other hand up rest on his shoulder. Tendrils of his inky hair brushed her knuckles and Hermione followed the temptation and let her hand travel through the soft strands. _This is insane_ , she thought to herself, feeling yet more of the fiery pain in her nerves subsiding. _This is completely insane. He'll pull back any second now,_ _and he'll be angry and I'll have to leave and everything will be worse and I'll never feel this –_

He did not pull away. One of his hands travelled gently to her wrist, trailed delicately up her arm, ghosted over her shoulder – she inhaled sharply when she felt the pressure of his fingers on her clavicle – threaded gently through the mass of bushy curls that had gone completely wild overnight, and settled on a pulse point at her throat. She leaned forward into his touch, and the aching throughout her body was replaced by a completely different sensation racing down from the point he touched on her neck, flooding her chest with warmth, and sending a puzzling counterpoint down lower, deep into her belly.

 _Severus_. She thought the name and opened her eyes to see him. He watched her as carefully as ever, his head cocked to one side. Hermione felt herself smiling at him, and she moved her hand through his hair so that she could hook a strand of it over his ear, as she had done before. One corner of his mouth rose in an odd little half smile.

"You were saying?" he said, so quietly that she barely heard him.

"Better," she said, and her voice came out breathy and high and slightly ridiculous. She swallowed hard. "Sev –" she stopped herself saying the name aloud, but she saw his eyes widen slightly before she dropped her gaze to their interlocked hands. She shook herself mentally before pressing forward. "Sir. What should we do about… about the Carrows?"

Snape straightened up immediately and regarded her with what looked fleetingly like regret. After a moment, he withdrew the hand that he'd pressed to her neck, and pulled back from her half-embrace. When he looked at her again, his eyes had hardened and his entire demeanour had changed.

"What makes you think we are going to do anything at all? Professor Carrow was teaching an advanced lesson on the Dark Arts." Snape's other hand, still wrapped around her own, trembled slightly as he continued, "There is nothing to be done."

Hermione stared at him, feeling tears fill her eyes. She released his hand, disgust coiling in her stomach as her mind raced over the implications of his answer. The pain from before returned immediately, and she felt like she might descend back into a stupor.

"You won't help us?" she whispered. Something inside her ached, worse than the aftermath of the Cruciatus. "You won't help… _me_?"

Snape dropped his gaze down to his hands, which were empty now. His lip twitched before his dark hair fell forward to obscure his face. He shook his head, just once, and Hermione stood abruptly, ignoring the way her nerves screamed with the movement.

 _I have to get out of here_ , she thought to herself, feeling a tear trailing down her cheek. The ache was spreading through her chest and up into her throat. In a moment, she would choke on it. _I have to_ –

"Granger."

Snape stood up as well, and reached for her with both hands.

"Don't touch me," Hermione hissed at him, and he immediately dropped his hands.

"Granger," he said again, and his voice held a quiet desperation, "please stay here. You cannot think to leave when –"

"I _am_ leaving," she sneered. "Unlike _you_ , I am not a coward."

He met her eyes after she spat that last word, and Hermione saw pain, rage, and despair reflected back at her in those dark depths. She turned her back on him, and walked unsteadily out of his office.

* * *

The spinning spiral staircase almost brought Hermione to her knees, but she elbowed her way out from behind the gargoyle nonetheless. She would have stumbled into the corridor, had a pair of slim, strong arms not been waiting to embrace her.

"'Mione!" Ginny's voice, and her flowery perfume, and that ineffable strength of hers, enfolded Hermione as they descended together to the cold stone floor.

"Here," she heard the younger girl's voice say sharply. "Take the Map and keep an eye out."

Something shuffled to the right, and then Ginny held her even tighter. Hermione realised belatedly that she was sobbing into the mane of red hair, and some of the burning from the Cruciatus and the ache in her chest melted away as her heart filled. Ginny was whispering to her in her rich, urgent voice:

"You're all right now, 'Mione, you're all right. We're here for you. We'll keep you safe."

"That's right, 'Mione. Everything is going to be OK," another voice said, and Hermione looked up to see Neville. He smiled at her wanly, and she disentangled herself from Ginny to give the round-faced young man a hug.

"Are you really all right?" she asked him, pulling back to examine him carefully. He looked tired, with dark circles beneath his eyes, but he gave off a determined, almost harsh energy that made a little of the ache in Hermione's heart subside.

"I am," Neville answered. "Pomfrey patched me right up. She said it might take a little while to heal…" he paused for a moment, "mentally from it, but I should be just fine."

Hermione nodded and tried to smile.

"Neville," Ginny said abruptly, "it looks like DE Number Two is on his way. We'd better leave. West staircase – _now_."

"Right," Neville said a little absently. "Come on, 'Mione."

Hermione allowed her two friends to escort her gently through the castle. Ginny stopped every few moments to check the Marauder's Map, navigating around Filch and the other DE members and sympathizers.

"What did Snape want you to stay in his Office overnight for?" Neville asked as they made their way forward.

"He… he treated me for the aftereffects of the Cruciatus."

"I figured as much," Ginny said, "but why didn't he just leave you in the Hospital Wing?"

"He had potions… I think he's got more experience treating… I'm not sure."

Ginny glanced at her sideways.

"He didn't hurt you or anything? We were checking on the Map for you all night, and we had two people stationed right by the Head's Office as well. Snape… stayed really close to you. And you were really upset just now."

Hermione did not answer, but an overheard conversation from the night before echoed through her mind. She shook her head to clear the Headmaster from her mind – it hurt to think of him right now.

"What time is it?" Hermione asked as they neared the Room of Requirement.

"Half past eight," Neville answered.

"We've got some food from breakfast waiting for you in the Room," Ginny said. "I think you'd best stay there for the –"

"No," Hermione said simply. "I'll need a quick shower, and then I'll be attending classes as usual."

She saw Neville and Ginny exchange glances.

"You've got Muggle Studies first, right? It's cancelled for the time being so – " Ginny's voice adopted a careful note that made Hermione stop in her tracks. Neville tightened his arm around her shoulders.

"What did you do?" Hermione asked.

"Let's get back to the Room, we can talk about this la –"

"What. Did. You. Do?" Hermione demanded, straightening her spine as much as she could and glaring at Ginny.

"You and Neville were both… out of commission," Ginny said, looking away. "So I did as you always directed. I… led the DA."

"To do…?"

Ginny finally looked back at Hermione, and there was both pride and caution in the younger girl's eyes.

"I took Neville's fighters and we tracked down Alecto Carrow after hours. Amycus was in his office all night, or we'd have preferred him. She was patrolling, so I had Michael Corner and Parvati watch my back when I hit her."

Hermione felt both bright anger and savage satisfaction warring within her breast.

"With?"

"Curse of the Bogies," Ginny said, and then continued in a rush, "it was going to be the Bat Bogey Hex, but I decided that… considering what her brother put you through…"

"Did she see you?"

"No, no one did."

"And you all got back to the Common Room safely?"

"Of course."

Hermione rushed forward and hugged her friend, and yet more of the aftereffects of the Curse melted away as her heart surged with affection for Ginny.

"She's in the Hospital Wing," Neville said, his voice shaking with suppressed laughter. "I saw her come in this morning after someone finally found her in the corridors. And Madam Pomfrey has no idea how to treat such an advanced curse, of course."

Hermione laughed as well, feeling the last of the inflammation leaving her.

* * *

A/N: This past week marks six months since I started posting this story. To each and every one of you who has read this work and especially to those who have given me so much encouragement with your reviews and PMs, thank you. You've stuck with me for half a year, and I'm so grateful that you've joined me on this long journey. We've still got a ways to go, and I will do my best to keep up the quality of this story as we head on towards the next major turning point.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Hermione went to her chamber and found the flashing red twinned parchment awaiting her. Grateful that she didn't have any classes until after lunch, she immediately settled down at her desk and unrolled the parchment. A series of messages from Harry awaited her:

"Stag and terrier reporting for duty."

"Hello? Stag and terrier here. Reporting for duty. Come in, otter."

"We did have a chat scheduled for today, didn't we?"

The spikey writing switched into Ron's loopy hand:

"Is everything all right over there, Hermione?"

"Hermione?"

"HERMIONE?"

Hermione shook her head, realising that she had utterly forgotten the discussion they'd scheduled for the previous evening. She tapped the parchment so that her writing appeared immediately.

"Otter reporting for duty. I'm so sorry I kept you waiting."

The answer, still in Ron's writing, was immediate:

"Terrier ready and waiting. For flipping AGES. Where the hell have you been, Hermione?"

She hesitated for a moment, deliberating on what to tell them.

"It's just me," Ron wrote. "Harry's outside getting some air. What happened?"

"I was attacked," she wrote at last, "in Dark Arts. Carrow made the other students use the Cruciatus on me. I was pretty out of it for the last 24 hours."

"Blimey, Hermione! Are you all right? We've been worrying and worrying about something like this. And who are these OTHER students who did it?"

"All of the other seventh years in the class. It wasn't their fault. It was either they do it, or Carrow would have tortured them too. He did that to Neville for trying to stop him."

"Bloody hell. I'm getting Harry."

"Wait!" she wrote quickly. "How has Harry been lately? He's seemed a bit off since you went to Xenophilius Lovegood's house."

"He's been a little off, yeah," Ron's writing came through a little hesitantly. "I think he might be really obsessing with those Hallows things we discussed with Lovegood."

"I was a little afraid of that. Try to turn him back to looking for Horcruxes, OK? Maybe look at some of the locations Dumbledore mentioned during their private lessons last year."

"I'll see what I can do. But he really is stubborn about this, mind you."

"Just remind him of Dumbledore's instructions."

"Right. Bringing him in now."

A few minutes later, Harry's writing scrawled across the parchment:

"Ron's told me what happened. Gods, Hermione, I'm so sorry. I wish we could be there to help you. I want to KILL Carrow."

Hermione smiled to herself, despite the aching that had descended into her chest.

"I wish you could both be here too. But I'm mostly fine now, I think."

"You must have been in a terrible state afterwards. What did Madam Pomfrey do to patch you up?"

"She…" Hermione almost lied, but then shook herself firmly. _What is there to lie about? I've got nothing to hide_. "She didn't treat me. Snape did. He gave me Strengthening Potion and Dreamless Sleep, and then kept an eye on me. I think he wanted to do more, but I left to make sure Neville and the DA were OK."

There was a long pause before Harry replied, and she could tell both from his writing and his tone that Ron was still there, and that Harry wished to say more than he did.

"Did he treat you properly? Was he… decent with you?"

Hermione puzzled for a moment, recalling the way Snape had gently seen to her the previous day, and again that morning. She remembered holding his hand, and the accompanying urge to remain there with him, to encircle herself with the warmth of his arms and the counterpoint of his cool magic. His fingers against the pulse point on her neck… and then his devastating statement that he couldn't - or wouldn't - help her any further. She shook herself before replying.

"Yes, he was careful and I do think he is more experienced than Madam Pomfrey in dealing with this sort of thing." It was the second time she'd told this same tale, and something in it rang false, but Hermione pressed on anyway. "And I think he feels like he has to keep a close eye on me." She left out the "for obvious reasons," sure that Harry would read between the lines.

"Right," came his reply.

Hermione tried to shake off the rising ache in her chest, and decided to change the subject.

"I've realised something, though," she wrote to her two best friends. "I don't think what the DA is doing here is enough. We need to do more... Ginny got us started yesterday, I think – she attacked Alecto Carrow in retaliation for what the brother did – but we need to go even further. Any ideas?"

The one-word, all-caps reply was enough to banish the ache from Hermione's chest:

"YES."

* * *

The posters went up that night:

Neville's: _Dumbledore's Army, Still Recruiting_

Ginny's: _Sick of eating death? Join the Light_

Hermione's: _"Success is not final, failure is not fatal; it is the courage to continue that counts" – Winston Churchill_

And several more in honour of absent friends and allies:

 _Beware of Dark Magic and Gum Disease_

 _Constant Vigilance!_

 _We are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided_

 _Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!_

They put them up using Permanent Sticking Charms, and ensured that they couldn't be covered over using a clever little jinx one of the younger Ravenclaws came up with. Slughorn and McGonagall were on patrolling duties that night, Peeves neutralised Filch, and Hermione and Ginny had to Map to navigate around other potential threats. By the time they returned to the Room of Requirement, tired but incredibly pleased, Neville had relieved Lavender Brown of holding the Room open.

"How did it go?" he asked, grinning broadly. He looked quite well again, although his eyes still looked slightly haunted to Hermione.

"Six dozen posters are up!" Ginny answered, beaming. "And it went just as we'd planned. One outside of each House's Common Room, the four gigantic ones up in the Great Hall, half a hundred throughout the corridors and," she grinned wickedly, "one copy of each poster up in the Carrows' classrooms."

"Fantastic!" Neville said, and he turned to Hermione. "What else should we do?"

She smiled at his enthusiasm, but felt the expression slide off her face quickly. Her conversation with the boys had been productive – it was Ron who came up with the idea of the posters – but Harry had gently pointed out what Hermione herself had always said: anything they did now would escalate the conflict within the castle.

"Well," she began slowly, "I think we should try for having one of the Carrows at least partly incapacitated at any given time – I think mildly cursing either of them on a regular basis should do it." It was another of Ron's ideas. "That way, their hold on the castle would be steadily weaker, and they'd have a harder time colluding outside the range of our surveillance."

"What about taking one of their wands?" Ginny asked. "Ollivander's been closed a long enough time that they'd have trouble replacing them.

"That might be something to consider," Hermione said, "but I get the feeling we might start losing _our_ wands if we did that. I think we need to be subtler about it – Ginny, how about you look into curses and hexes that would be unnoticeable but effective at interfering with their ability to perform basic tasks."

The younger girl grinned wickedly and nodded.

"And what about during their classes?" Neville asked, his eyes holding Hermione's steadily. He'd come out of the Hospital Wing more determined than ever, but with a hardness about him that made Hermione feel both proud and desperately sad. "We can't let Carrow get the jump on us like that again."

"I agree, and since we outnumber the DEs in any given class, I think we'll be able to neutralise them all pretty effectively. In fact, I doubt it'll take more than one stand off to get the job done."

Neville frowned slightly.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

It had been Harry's suggestion, and one that he'd made with some hesitation, but Hermione had immediately realised he was right. It was impetuous, and brash, and incredibly bold - much like Harry himself - and Hermione had known as soon as he suggested it that it was time to bring those aspects of Harry's character, if not the man himself - back to Hogwarts.

"We already know that the DEs and Slytherins in our class are prepared for a fight. We'll do the same."

Neville and Ginny exchanged a long look, and then turned back to Hermione.

"'Mione, are you sure about that?" Ginny asked. "What about the other Dark Arts classes?"

Hermione felt herself smiling grimly.

"We'll prepare everyone." Then she said what Ron had pointed out: "But they'll raise the stakes correspondingly _outside_ of the classroom – that's their only move. So we'll have to make absolutely sure that none of the DA puts a toe out of bounds."

"And Snape?" Ginny asked, meeting Hermione's eyes dead-on.

Occlumency was out of the question – it still hurt to engage her Mind's Eye – so Hermione had to arrange her face carefully before answering:

"Leave him to me, Ginny."

Her friend looked less than satisfied, but Hermione pressed on, briefing Neville on the plan Harry, she and Ron had put together.

* * *

Phineas Nigellus hailed her two days later when Hermione was making her solitary way from Charms to Dark Arts.

"The Headmaster wishes to see you in his office," he said from a portrait of surly-looking troll.

"Why?" Hermione demanded and, seeing the little man frown, she quickly added: "Sir."

"The last time I checked, it was not for you to question the demands of those in authority, _girl_. He wants to see you. Immediately."

Hermione thought of Snape up in his office, of their last encounter, and felt that same aching – and anger – rising up in her chest.

"No."

" _No_?"

Hermione turned her back on the portrait.

"I have a class to attend, Professor Black. Tell the Headmaster that I'll see him tomorrow for our usual eight o'clock meeting."

She carried on determinedly towards the Dark Arts classroom, setting her shoulders and clenching her jaw reflexively, and putting Snape as firmly from her mind as she could. _Bigger fish_ , she thought. _The posters have been a success so far - at least no one's figured out a way to take them down - and now it's time to put our magic where our mouths are._

The other Gryffindor seventh years waited outside the classroom. Hermione held each of their eyes in turn before regarding the rest of the students awaiting the start of class.

"Back for more, Mudblood?" Crabbe hissed at her.

Hermione regarded him steadily.

"I think not," she told him in her iciest voice. "But I am back."

He, Goyle, Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson all snickered, but Hermione noticed that Malfoy and Blaise Zabini had both turned away to continue a quiet conversation they'd been having when she'd arrived.

The door to the classroom banged open and Amycus Carrow stood before them, grinning broadly in a nasty way that made Hermione want to run back down the corridor and, absurdly, up to the Gargoyle Corridor and to the opulent office beyond. _It'll be all right_ , she told herself firmly. _He's just one man. We've got this all planned out. And there are over a dozen of us to contend with_.

"In you get," Carrow growled, and the students obeyed at once.

He stood before them as usual, and his eyes fell almost immediately on Hermione. She glanced around the room at the posters the DA had put up, her eyes falling on the one they'd put up on Luna's behalf: _Beware of Dark Magic and Gum Disease_. She felt a surge of determination at the thought of her absent friend.

"And how are you today, Mudblood-that-was?" Carrow asked. "You look a sight better than my sister does." He walked until he stood in front of her desk. Hermione looked up at him, her hand already wrapped around her wand beneath the desk. She felt Neville shift slightly next to her. "You wanna confess to what you done now, or are we gonna give this here class another round of Crucio practice to get it out of you?"

"There will be no more Cruciatus Curses performed in this class," Hermione said in her best, loudest know-it-all voice. "That part of the syllabus has officially been removed."

Carrow's manner changed immediately – his usual hulking body language turned fluid as he drew out his wand, faster and with more grace than Hermione would have expected. But Neville was ready for him:

" _Expelliarmus_!" he cried, and Carrow's wand sailed through the air.

Hermione did not wait to see Neville catch the wand; she turned rapidly, her wand at the ready, and she marked Crabbe immediately, as planned.

" _Expelliarmus_!" she shouted, and she felt a blaze of courage and joy when the spell was echoed all around her.

Wands flew to the front of the classroom to be claimed by the Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw members of the DA. Hermione peered around quickly, making sure that each of the DEs were unarmed before turning back to Carrow, a wand held in each hand, pointing directly at his chest.

"We're changing how things work in _this here class_ ," she told Carrow, who looked half-stunned, half-horrified. "From now on there will be _no_ practical lessons of any kind. If you attempt to curse one of us, we will _all_ respond. Curse one of us, and you'll have to curse all of us." She lowered her voice slightly so that Carrow could just barely hear her. "And if you even _try_ , the DA will put your sister back in the Hospital Wing – and you'll join her."

Carrow's face reddened and his small, beady eyes raced between the wands in Hermione's hands, before he looked abruptly beyond her.

"And _what_ do we have here?" a deep voice sneered. Hermione followed Carrow's glanc to find the Headmaster darkening the doorway to the classroom, his wand trained directly at her heart.

* * *

A/N: What _do_ we have here, dear readers?


	27. Chapter 27

***Important A/N***

Sorry for the late update, folks. I had a bad accident in my house last week, and even though no one is hurt, we've been a little homeless since then. Things are really unsettled, I'm rather unhappy, and I don't currently have time or energy to work on this story. Here's the chapter I planned to post yesterday - no cliffhanger this time, I promise. I'll update whenever I can, and I'll get back into a weekly routine in the new year as soon as I'm able. Wish us luck, please. Hopefully my little family and I can get home sometime before Christmas.

* * *

Chapter 27

"Blast the Mudblood bitch into next week, Snape!" Carrow crowed, hardly repressing his glee at seeing his Death Eater colleague enter the silent classroom.

"I think not," Snape said silkily, his eyes still on Hermione. She met the dark man's eyes as he said this last and raised her chin defiantly. Whatever he was playing at, she refused to be intimidated – despite the sneaking suspicion that, unlike Carrow, Snape could handle the DA.

Snape turned to the larger man, his lip curled in a ferocious sneer. "You see, Amycus, I do not make a habit of blasting those who _win_ conflicts such as these. Your methods have brought about this situation – I warned you to this effect earlier this week. I have half a mind to allow it to play out as Miss Granger sees fit."

Carrow mouthed wordlessly, but Snape held up a hand to forestall him.

" _However_ ," Snape continued, putting a gently emphasis on the word, "I believe that everyone in this class has learned a new lesson already today. And, considering that these students seem to align themselves with the group referring to themselves as the –" he paused to curl his lip, " – DA, I believe a penalty is in order." Snape addressed the room at large. "Every student in possession of more than one wand will put their own in their backpacks, and place the taken wands on the desk in front of them."

"And what makes you think we'll agree to that?" Neville demanded loudly from beside Hermione. "Last I checked, you're outnumbered, Snape."

"By all means, engage me, Mr. Longbottom," came the answer, and Snape's depthless eyes glinted with malice, "you may pick up the pieces of your colleagues and –" he gestured at Hermione – "your leader after I am through."

"Neville," Hermione said in an undertone.

"Miss Granger," Snape said, his eyes snapping to hers, his wand still trained on her chest, "your move."

Hermione stared at him, her mind racing. If she bade the DA to follow Snape's instructions it would defuse the situation and halt this potentially devastating standoff. Their message to Carrow would remain mostly effective – Snape's contemptuous attitude to his ally assured her of that – but their triumph would be muted. If, on the other hand, she gave the signal, the DA would press forward with a fight. That same sneaking suspicion washed over Hermione once more: if she chose, Snape would fight, and something between the two of them – and perhaps even between the Headmaster and the entire DA – would overbalance. They had confirmed and reconfirmed two formidable Death Eater foes within the castle, but Snape hadn't raised a hand against a student so far during this horrible, endless school year, and Hermione's mind turned yet again to his gentle treatment of herself, and her dormant suspicions of his true loyalties. She made her decision.

"Do as he says," she said, lowering both the wands in her hands, and placing Crabbe's carefully on the desk before her.

The room rustled around her as the DA members surrendered. As soon as Neville reluctantly placed Carrow's wand on the desk, the latter stepped forward to reclaim it.

" _No_ ," Snape hissed, turning his wand on his fellow Death Eater so quickly that Hermione caught her breath. "You will _not_ respond to what has happened here in any way. You have allowed this class to act beyond your control, and you will leave your wand precisely where it is until each of these students has left. There is another issue at hand." Snape gestured lazily to the seven DA posters lining the walls, and spoke to the students once more. "Every student who participated in this standoff – _including_ those lackwits who lost their wands – will use the solvent I have developed to remove each and every one of these abominations from the walls of our school during the time they would otherwise have spent in this classroom. All placards are to be deposited in the Great Hall to be burned at dinner this evening."

Hermione felt her heart sink once more. _You knew this would happen, eventually. There was no way the posters would stay up. And of course Snape would develop a way of countering Permanent Sticking Charms._ But, she admitted to herself, she'd hoped they would remain for longer than just two days. She looked up when Snape addressed her once more.

"Miss Granger, you will come with me."

"Hermione, no!" Neville shouted.

"Neville, it's –"

"And you, Longbottom," Snape interrupted her, "will serve a week's detentions with Professor Hagrid."

"Now hang on," Carrow interjected, his eyes narrowed, "me and Alecto're in charge of discipline in this –"

"You forfeited that right, Amycus," Snape said contemptuously, "when you forfeited your _wand_. And I shall relieve you of the latter for the remainder of the day, seeing as you have been incapable of discerning its effective use in your classroom."

Carrow seemed to visibly deflate, and Snape summoned the wand before making a curt gesture at Hermione. She nodded to Neville repressively, and followed the dark man into the corridor.

Snape led her to an empty classroom and swung the door open.

" _In_ ," he snarled.

Hermione took a deep breath and entered the classroom, an unused one down the Charms corridor. She watched as Snape warded the door, casting Silencing Spells, Muffliato, and a number of nonverbal spells. She tried to bring up her Mind's Eye, but the lingering pain the Cruciatus had left burned across her psyche. She pushed past it – she couldn't imagine facing Snape without Occlumency this time. She succeeded, but she could tell that it would cost her dearly later on.

"How may I help you, sir?" she asked his back a moment later, relieved that her voice sounded coolly neutral.

Snape turned to her. In a classroom once more, with his teaching robes billowing around his thin, solid form, his dark hair framing his face, and his eyes flashing with fury, he was every inch the intimidating Potions master.

"Did we or did we not discuss your role as Head Girl in this institution, Miss Granger?"

His voice was a low, silky rumble, and Hermione refused to make eye contact; instead, she picked a spot on the wall behind his head and focused on that. _It's easier this way_ , she thought remotely, squashing the rising ache in her chest, _I don't have to feel anything right now. This will play out, and I'll leave. And that will be that._

"We did indeed discuss it, Professor," she answered simply, retaining that same neutrality.

He took a long step forward so that he stood directly in front of her. Hermione focused on his shoulder, refusing to be affected by his sudden proximity.

"And did I not tell you how I would deal with anyone who endangered the safety of the students in _my_ school?"

"No, actually." Thanking her borderline-eidetic memory, Hermione moved her voice into ringing pedantic tones as she recited his words back to him verbatim: "What you said was, 'This is my school. And I have been given the authority to run it as I see fit. Anyone – and I mean anyone who threatens the safety of my students will be dealt with as I see fit.' You didn't mention what would _happen_ to someone who endangered the safety of your students. But please, Professor, do enlighten me."

She expected him to react angrily, as he had always done when Harry used impudence with him. Instead, his voice took on a strained quality.

"Do you _want_ to see this school upended, Granger?" He took another step closer, and Hermione took a corresponding step back. Simultaneously, she distanced herself from the strain in his voice as firmly as she could, retaining her Occlumency around her like a cool, brittle shield. _I don't have to feel anything right now. I am a statue. I am a stone. I am nothing._ He continued in the same tone, "Do you _want_ to see what will happen if you or any of your idiotic friends push Amycus and Alecto Carrow too far?"

Hermione kept a hold of her Occlumency by sheer force of will, her forehead prickling with the strain of retaining her Mind's Eye and denying her emotions. It took her much longer than usual to reply, and she sensed Snape's growing impatience. Allowing her eyes to drift downwards, she saw that he'd clenched his hands into tight fists at his sides. Her own hands felt loose and slack, and utterly empty.

"Do _you_ want to see more torture perpetrated in this school?" she returned at last. "It seems that you expect me to step aside and allow your Death Eater friends to hurt my fellow students – not to mention myself – how does that fit in with your 'anyone who threatens the safety of my students' standpoint?"

"Had you followed my instructions and attended me this afternoon rather than going to Dark Arts, the situation would never have escalated," he snapped.

Hermione barked a short, sharp laugh, infusing it with as much ridicule as she could find in the increasingly bleak landscape of her Mind's Eye.

"Sure, Professor," she said.

Snape's hand flashed out, and he grasped her chin gently. He tilted her face upwards so that she had to look at him, but Hermione focused on one of his sharp cheekbones instead of his eyes. _He looks more gaunt than ever_ , some nattering part of her mind was saying, _and there are dark circles under his eyes again. I wonder…_ He released her chin.

"Look at me," the dark man said. The fury had left his voice.

Hermione took a deep breath.

"No," she answered.

She held tight to that neutrality, that austere little office landscape she'd created. It was cold comfort at a time like this, and she could feel her heart filling with that same coldness, icing over as she stood before this man once more.

"I told you…" he said, and she could feel the pressure of his eyes attempting to find her own. "I told you not to engage your Mind's Eye after the attack earlier this week, Granger, and I suspect that is precisely what you have been doing in order to conceal your emotions for the duration of this conversation. You will cause lasting harm to yourself."

 _I don't care. I don't fucking care right now_ , she told herself, _this is better than feeling… whatever it is I'd be feeling right now with him._

"That's my look-out, isn't it?" her dull voice said. She squared her shoulders. "Now, if you have nothing else to say, sir, I'd like to leave."

Hermione's eyes left his cheek and drifted down to his mouth, which had firmed into a thin line.

"Granger," he said, "I…" He sighed, and turned away from her abruptly. "I will expect you to attend me immediately the next time you are summoned to my office. Is that understood? We will resume this conversation tomorrow evening."

"As you say, Professor," Hermione responded blandly.

The dark man unwarded the room, and opened the door for Hermione. She walked past him, still firmly refusing to look into eyes that seemed to follow her a long way back up the corridor.

* * *

It was indeed just as he said: an odd melee of DA and DE members arrived at the Great Hall just before the start of dinner that night, bearing every single poster Hermione and Ginny had spent hours putting up throughout the castle earlier that week. They threw the mass of colourful parchment and paperboard into a large pile at the top of the huge room, and Snape banished the shuffling students to their respective house tables.

Hermione watched through the careful dispassion of her Mind's Eye as Snape made a speech, his low voice echoing throughout the Great Hall. It was precisely what she'd expected: a formal address about the importance of unity in their school laced with subtle threats to those students who refused to fall in line. She did note that Snape did not specifically mention the DA, nor the particular behaviour that would incur the punishment he threatened – it was an ambiguous speech overall, and one that left her with the impression that the headmaster was reluctant to state his full support of the Carrows.

Then he set fire to the pile of posters, and Hermione watched as the DA's rallying cries went up in smoke.

* * *

A/N 2: Just to reassure my excellent readers, this story is NOT done. I'll be back with more angst, intrigue and... can we call this romance? Slow burn indeed :D


	28. Chapter 28

A/N 1: Thank you all so much for your reviews and for your kind encouragement. Things have been getting better, but we're still displaced, and I've taken solace in putting together this chapter over the past week. It might be the last one for a little while, but I have a feeling you'll appreciate having it sooner rather than later.

A/N 2: Any DH passages you recognise belong to JKR.

* * *

Chapter 28

"You said you'd handle him, 'Mione," Ginny said as she and Hermione walked slowly towards the Great Hall for breakfast the following morning.

The DA headquarters had been subdued after Snape's speech the previous evening, and many members had approached Hermione with worries and questions. She'd answered them as best she could, but she'd been thoroughly exhausted by the time she retired to bed.

"I am," she answered, her forehead still prickling with the effort of holding her Occlumency in place. "… I'm trying."

"Then why haven't we planned any direct action against him? We managed to Confund Amycus Carrow yesterday after what you and the seventh years did in Dark Arts, and I'm sure we could manage something –"

" _No_ ," Hermione cut her off. "I doubt you _could_ manage anything against him, Ginny. Snape… he's not like the other two."

"Well, I guess you would know," Ginny said, her amber eyes shrewd. "You _do_ spend a lot of time with him Friday evenings, after all."

Hermione sighed.

"What I mean is, if we start to go after Professor Snape, he will have to start retaliating. And it won't be just a case of crime followed by punishment with him, Gin – as bad as that has been with the Carrows. It wouldn't just be a _reaction_ from him." She paused for a moment to gingerly engage her Mind's Eye, judiciously ignoring the accompanying pain. After tucking away her emotions, she continued. "It would be a siege. He's more strategic than the other DEs. And he's not sadistic. He'd act with extreme prejudice and, unlike the other two, I doubt we could anticipate what he'd do."

 _And his reaction if we started attacking him might just include a consequence for my parents… sure, he's been kind enough to them so far, and he's bound to keep them safe, but –_

"Is that so much worse than how he's acting _now_?" Ginny's voice was climbing in volume.

"Ssh," Hermione murmured, drawing her friend quickly behind a tapestry. "Snape has very little contact with any students right now. He hasn't hurt anyone at Hogwarts at all, to my knowledge, and –"

"Oh, except for the fact that he buggered up one of our biggest moves so far, and burnt all the DA posters, and –"

"Enough," Hermione said, retaining her neutrality once more despite the surge of annoyance that tried to rise up within her Mind's Eye. "We made the threat to Carrow just as we intended to, and we scared the pants off the DEs at the same time. It wasn't a complete success, I'll grant you, but it wasn't as if Snape undid any of –"

"So how are you going to handle him then, Hermione?" Ginny's eyes blazed, and Hermione fought the urge to look away. "What are you going to do tonight, for example, to handle the bastard whose cronies came aboard the Hogwarts Express and _kidnapped_ Luna?"

"I'm going to get information out of him." Hermione felt cold as she said it. It was the truth. It was why she'd persuaded Snape to stop depositing memories in the Pensieve before their lessons. Yet saying it aloud to Ginny made it sound all the more absurd… and terrifying. But it's what they needed – an edge over the DEs, some insight into what might be coming, and… Hermione refused to admit it to herself, but she _needed_ to know more…

"Professor McGonagall wants to see us after Transfiguration," Hermione said, recalling a note that had appeared at the top of her Transfigured schedule that morning and seizing on the change of subject. Ginny narrowed her, eyes, but allowed Hermione to elaborate a little without interruption. "Something about a radio show the Order of the Phoenix allies are starting sometime this weekend. It'll make for a good opportunity to gather the DA. We can all listen to it together. It's being organised by some former students and professors from Hogwarts, and it'll give us all some good information on how the war is going."

Hermione and Ginny carried on towards the Great Hall, discussing this new development in low voices, as Hermione tried to fight off the mixture of hopelessness, determination, and something else that threatened to break free and obliterate her Mind's Eye.

* * *

"Pink Floyd," Hermione said to the Gargoyle, which jumped aside for her. She stepped onto the moving staircase and checked her Mind's Eye over once more – it was in order, despite the familiar pain racing over her forehead almost constantly now. _This is what Harry must feel when his scar hurts._ She pushed thoughts of both Harry and Ron away as forcefully as she could. _We've dealt with both the Carrows. Now it's time for me to deal with the last Death Eater at Hogwarts. Just as I promised Ginny I'd do. And nothing here has changed. It's business as usual_.

Standing before the Headmaster's door, Hermione cast her attention to the far back of her Mind's Eye for the first time in what felt like months. There, the Intercision blade gleamed bright silver and menacing. _And at least I've got this to fall back on_. Hermione smiled grimly to herself as she stowed it away and knocked on the door.

Snape sat in one of two armchairs in the middle of the Office, which, unlike all their other meetings, had not been cleared of furniture for their session.

"What's going on?" she demanded immediately.

"Good evening to you as well, Miss Granger," Snape said, examining his fingernails before waving a hand at the armchair next to his own. "Do be seated and we'll get this over with."

"We… we're not going to fight tonight?"

"Tonight will not feature a practical lesson, no."

Mind's Eye or no, bright anger flowed over Hermione and propelled her forward.

"I am prepared for a _practical lesson_ ," she said, putting a nasty emphasis on the last two words. "And that's what I came here for. Not to sit around listening to you lecture me."

"Then I daresay you'll be disappointed, Miss Granger. Now, if you'd be so kind as to stop barking at me and be seated, I have prepared a discussion for this evening's –"

"No." Hermione waved her wand and started banishing the various tables and other furniture to rest against the circular walls.

"Granger," Snape's voice held a clear note of warning now. He remained seated, but his wand had appeared in his hand the moment she'd raised hers. "You are in no fit state for a psychic exchange this evening. We will have an academic discussion, I will answer all of your exhaustive questions, we will talk about the week's events in the context of the lesson, and I will give you homework. We will resume our usual practice next week _if_ I decide you are fully healed from the damage you suffered on Tuesday."

Hermione opened her mouth to snarl a reply, and shut it just as quickly. _If I can take him by surprise…_ Her stomach twisted at the notion immediately – _it would be dishonourable, underhanded…_ the twisting, tamped down emotion threatened to rise into her chest as she thought it over… _and_ _it would be just like him…_

Feigning continued reluctance, she nodded stiffly, put her wand back into its holster up her sleeve, and sat down as Snape had directed. He slipped his own wand back into his robes, and began to speak in the tone he reserved for classroom lectures. She felt his eyes on her face, but Hermione had decided not to make eye contact until the last possible second – _he'll read me like a book otherwise_ … _and I might not be able to do this if I look into his eyes –_

"This week's events, unfortunate as they were, present us with an ideal objective for a detailed analysis of psychic damage…"

He carried on at some length, and although Hermione did not allow her eyes to meet his, she watched him carefully, waiting for her moment. She did listen attentively enough, and asked questions at appropriate intervals, but she carried on with her determined, aching Occlumency, observing him as neutrally as possible. She watched his hands as he spoke – they were long-fingered and strong, and Snape occasionally used them to frame or accent his speech. She noticed a series of scars running across one palm, a nick on the back of the opposite hand, the delicate blue-black veins running beneath the thin skin of his wrists. She remained remote and stoic as she watched, and waited.

At last, Snape shifted in his seat, and glanced up at the clock, and Hermione moved as fast as she could. Her wand slid down from its holster and into her hand, the spell primed and ready, and she met the dark man's eyes at last and cast it:

" _LEGILIMENS!_ "

Hermione plunged into him, ignoring the Mind's Eye that came up to meet her immediately. She felt a blast of the dark man's surprise surrounding her and, realising that his defenses were materialising rapidly in the form of mist surrounding the dark, glittering plain, she dived into the closest pool. She saw the flash of a recent memory where Phineas Nigellus spoke from his place on the circular wall of this very office, and a similar feeling of shock and anger flooded through Snape as he struggled against her.

Hermione followed the emotion, pressing forward with the attack as forcefully as she could. The black eyes meeting hers had narrowed in concentration, and she knew that a counteroffensive could come at any moment. The next memory she found was one where Snape spoke to Malfoy, annoyance bleeding through the scene to link it to the previous one. _Deeper_ , she moved forward again, _I need to get deeper_. She followed the chain of annoyance as it thickened into the sharp, paralysing fury the man couldn't seem to stop feeling now as she pressed on. Something echoed it within her breast as Hermione followed the spiralling feeling down, down, _down_. The feeling crystallised into rage, and Hermione did her best to ignore the pangs of regret rising in her chest alongside it as she followed that, too.

The next memory she plunged into featured Snape discussing something with Dumbledore as the two of them walked together one darkened evening outside of Hogwarts.

"You trust him…" Snape was saying to the older wizard in an undertone that betrayed his dismay, "you do not trust me."

"It is not a question of trust," Dumbledore answered, "I have, as we both know, limited time. It is essential that I give the boy enough instruction for him to do what he needs to do."

Hermione felt her entire body going rigid with the need to hang on to this memory as Snape's defenses coalesced around her and he repeatedly attempted to throw her from his mind. _This is why he wants to see what Harry and Dumbledore talked about_ , she thought distantly, fighting to stay present within the memory. _I have to know…_

"And why may I not have the same information?" memory-Snape demanded.

"I prefer not to put all of my secrets in one basket," Dumbledore answered lightly, "particularly not a basket that spends so much time dangling on the arm of Lord Voldemort."

"Which I do on your orders!" Hermione felt memory-Snape's dismay intensify into indignation.

"And you do it extremely well. Do not think that I underestimate the constant danger in which you place yourself, Severus. To give Voldemort what appears to be valuable information while withholding the essentials is a job I would entrust to nobody but you."

"Yet you confide much more in a boy who is incapable of Occlumency," Hermione felt memory-Snape's rage building, his corresponding inability to contain himself, "whose magic is mediocre, and who has a direct connection into the Dark Lord's mind!"

"Voldemort fears that connection," said Dumbledore placidly. "Not so long ago he had one small taste of what truly sharing Harry's mind means to him. It was pain such as he has never experienced. He will not try to possess Harry again, I am sure of it. Not in that way."

"I don't understand." Those words cost Snape, she could tell. _Here we come to it_ , Hermione thought, sensing memory-Snape's intriguing mixture of frustration, sincerity, longing and –

" _LEGILIMENS!"_

Hermione saw the real Snape before her once more as he brought his wand up to point into her face. The sense of betrayal that had brought her to the memory rose up within Hermione and she gasped at the overwhelming sensation of feeling it fully for the first time in days –

 _... no, God no, he's trying to invert it… I have to hold on, I have to_ –

The memory of Snape and Dumbledore faded into the background as Hermione fought desperately to keep her Occlumency in place, to crush her emotions down once more. The aching that suffused her chest redoubled, and she cried out when her forehead went from prickling to almost splitting with pain. Her own Mind's Eye interface replaced the memory she'd been viewing as Snape closed for the attack. The little office space looked warped and wrong, awash in despair and an emotion that Hermione dared not name, not even in the deepest recesses of her very self. There, coiled like a snake, the root of her reaction to what Snape had done recently, to the betrayal she felt, to the complexity with which she'd come to regard him, arose as with a rush of strength Snape broke the psychic connection for less than a second before plunging into Hermione's mind.

Hermione tried to marshal her Mind's Eye, but it had shattered completely now and Snape had already seized on the memory that had presented itself upon the inversion: she was talking to Harry after one of his sessions with Dumbledore – _no, God, it's –_

"Dumbledore reckons Voldemort wanted the job so that he could…"

Memory-Harry carried on, taking Snape forward and into the memory that would reveal almost everything Hermione needed to keep secret and safe.

 _I pushed too hard; he let me in too far, and now he's_ …

She stopped herself panicking and pushed back at Snape, mustering another counterattack. The only thing more overwhelming than the emotions that had carried Snape this far into her psyche was the unnamed ache saturating her chest. Discarding her longtime refusal to acknowledge it, Hermione found a series of compelling memories where the throbbing, desperate yearning was at its sharpest. She brought one of these forward to overlap the memory Snape currently viewed:

A distraught Hermione held onto to Snape in this very office, crying after a particularly terrible lesson while the man slowly, solicitously helped her to put herself back together. _Please,_ Hermione begged silently as Snape's attention on the memory of Harry faltered, _please let_ go. _Join me here_. A different, jumper-clad Hermione threw herself into the dark man's arms in an empty corridor just before Christmas, their figures embracing one another with an ardour she hadn't recognised at the time.

Snape snarled and brushed these images aside to focus once more on the one Hermione desperately tried to hide.

 _The blade,_ the part of her mind still in her own power screamed, _use the blade!_ And Hermione cast her attention to the shining Intercision blade where it winked sinisterly at her from that very recess of her mind, a sharp scalpel that might cut away not just memories, but part of her soul as well. _It's the only option if this doesn't work – the only way…_

She brought forward a third scene wherein she offered Snape a flower in a darkened garden-in-miniature. The flower opened and closed in his palm as he stared down in wonder and then looked into her eyes with that open, aggrieved, almost innocent expression he was usually so careful to keep contained, and which had made her _feel_ this –

The dark man growled low in his throat and Hermione cried out as he broke through the barrage of remembrances she'd launched at him, through the onslaught of emotion she'd opened to him. Thus open, Hermione could do nothing as he hurled forward and seized on the tableau of Harry once more, the core memory that revealed _everything_. That same almost physical sense of betrayal rose in her chest once more, and Hermione knew that she had to wield the blade now, had to throw herself and her soul in front of this attack, had to amputate these feelings and –

 _No_ , a powerful voice said from somewhere deep inside her, a voice infused with a strength and clarity she'd never felt before now, _there is another choice_.

Hermione turned away from the Intercision blade at the last possible second. Instead, she charged after that convoluted, obstinate, painful and all-encompassing feeling she'd crushed mercilessly for so long now, and launched herself into it. This was simultaneously the hardest and easiest thing she'd ever done; she felt it at her very core – _love,_ that strong voice in her mind insisted – _Love. Love. Love -_ and she reached out through the haze of Legilimency and found Snape's gaunt cheek with her palm. His black eyes widened at her touch, and Hermione poured out everything she felt through her very soul and into the dark man.

The attack halted at once and without knowing what she did, without thinking, without design or intention of any kind, Hermione followed Snape out of her mind and stepped forward to rise up onto her toes, bracing herself against him. Tilting her head to the side, she affixed her trembling lips to his, covering his thin mouth with hers, closing her eyes and breaking their connection at last while she gave in to that part of herself she'd tried to suppress, and had almost cut away.

She kissed him, and Snape froze where he stood.

It couldn't have lasted longer than a moment before his hands rose and seized her shoulders. The kiss broke as he pushed her away, and Hermione put a hand over her own mouth, warm from its brief contact with his. She stood before him, still holding everything she felt between them, her chest rising and falling as she panted with letting it all out at once, and with the knowledge of what she'd just _done_.

Snape didn't look at her, but ran an unsteady hand through his hair as it fell forward to obscure his face.

Hermione felt her eyes fill with burning tears – _I have to get out of here. I can't believe I just – I can't believe I feel…after everything, despite everything –_ and she was already turning away. She felt herself move to the door, almost running to get away from this, from the way she'd defended herself by becoming more vulnerable than ever before. From the truth that had come rushing out of her tonight. _Impossible,_ the nattering part of her mind hissed at her as she moved, _Ridiculous. Completely and utterly insane._

Rapid footsteps behind her.

 _No! I have to get away – I have to –_

Her shaking hands gripped the handle, wrenched the polished hardwood door open, and she would have hurled herself out, would have torn headlong down the stairs, would have turned away from this office and this man for the very last time, had not a hand reached around her and slammed the door shut.

Hermione stood rooted to the spot, but only for a moment. Snape grasped her shoulders in an almost painful grip, spun her around and – _oh God_ , black eyes full of depthless conflagration - her back hit the closed door as the dark man pressed himself to her, pinning her with the long length of his lean form as his head dove down and his mouth claimed hers.

Despite the force with which he held her against the door, the power and _magic_ seeping through his touch, his kiss was careful. His thin upper lip fit perfectly between Hermione's, pressing just so _._ She gasped and he leaned forward just enough to run his tongue along her lower lip. She tasted woodsmoke and mint; the scent of herbs enfolded her, and Hermione heard herself moan and felt an answering rumble rise from within Snape's chest. While her kiss had been a fumbling, abridged thing borne by desperation and revelation, Snape's was full of an intention and intensity she'd recognised in him months before. This was what he kept buried beneath what he allowed himself to convey to the harsh world. Her hands rose of their own accord and tangled in his lank black hair, pulling him closer still. He responded immediately, slipping his tongue into her mouth, turning the kiss into something entirely different, and causing heat to fill Hermione's chest and drift downwards. He pressed forward, his previously contained hunger overspilling as he explored her mouth with an aggressive passion that left her lightheaded; she opened to him, holding onto him as his hands flowed up from her shoulders to cup either side of her face. He kept her like that, pressed against the door, mouth fastened to hers, lips bruising in their fervour.

It ended as suddenly as it had begun – Hermione's hands were suddenly empty as Snape took a long step back from her, nostrils flaring and eyes flashing. She still felt the hot mouth covering hers, the solid chest heaving against her own, the insistent hardness that had pressed against her lower belly.

"Go," the dark man said, his voice husky in a way she'd never heard before. "Leave now, Granger."

Hermione touched her lips to feel the heat he'd left there, and stared at him. Despite the colour high on his cheeks, despite the greasy hair now in disarray, the fire she'd seen in his eyes had gone out, and Professor Snape stood before her once again. Hermione felt her craving for _more_ warring with frustration at his sudden reticence.

"Maybe I don't want to," she answered. She'd meant to sound belligerent, but her voice came out breathy and higher than usual. She cleared her throat briefly, and saw Snape's eyes drift down to fix on her throat, and then back up her swollen lips. "Maybe I want to stay."

" _Get._ _Out._ "

"Or what?" she answered, wondering briefly at her own daring as she stepped towards him, tilting her chin up.

Snape's lip curled into that familiar sneer. He leaned forward and whispered, "Or..." his breath curled around the cup of her ear as one of his hands drifted up to enclose her throat in a loose yet seductive grip, "I won't _ever_ let you go."

Hermione pulled away from him abruptly, a frisson racing down her spine. His eyes were alight once more, and with something even darker than before. She stepped back and, the knowledge of what had just happened between them catching up with her, she fled.

* * *

A/N 3: I cannot _wait_ to see your reviews on this one. Does this count as a cliffhanger? If so, my sincerest Slytherin apologies.

A/N 4: A hearty nondenominational Happy Holidays to you all!


	29. Chapter 29

A/N 1: It has been too long, dear readers, and I'm sorry to have kept you waiting.

* * *

Chapter 29

"How'd it go?" Ginny asked as soon as Hermione arrived back at the Room of Requirement.

 _Now she bloody chooses to learn about follow-through_ , Hermione thought breathlessly to herself. She'd returned to the DA headquarters slowly, letting her rushing blood cool, and practicing her 12 times table over and over to get her mind off of –

"It was fine," Hermione answered firmly, walking past Ginny and into her private dormitory. Ginny followed.

"Fine? _Fine_?" Ginny closed Hermione's door behind the two of them with a sharp snap. "'Mione, did you find anything out? Did you manage to question him? Did you – "

"Can you leave me alone for five fucking minutes?" Hermione snapped angrily, whirling around and glaring at her friend.

Ginny's lip curled into a sneer.

"No, actually, I can't. You see, _some_ one has appointed me to gather intelligence for the DA, and I can't _do_ that if our own leader refuses to share what happens between her and the leader of our enemies. So, no. I can't leave you alone for five fucking minutes."

Hermione felt herself bristling, felt all of the confusion of the past few hours rising in her gut. Her head still hurt from her overuse of Occlumency, and she dared not engage her Mind's Eye now to deal with this. Ginny stepped forward abruptly and put her hands on Hermione's shoulders.

"You can _tell_ me," Ginny said, her voice suddenly quiet, "you can tell me what's really happening because, Hermione, I don't believe that you and Snape are just up there briefing or debriefing or whatever other hogwash you've been telling us. No one else seems to have clued in, but I _know_ you. And," her eyes shimmered, "you'll recall that I've always trusted _you_ with _my_ secrets."

Hermione stared into Ginny's eyes, and replayed their long friendship: the hesitant way Ginny had approached her in Second Year; Hermione's pleasure in first recognizing and then expecting the undeniable strength in the diminutive girl; the letters they wrote back and forth whenever Hermione spent time with her own family; and the whispered conversations in Ginny's room at the Burrow. _I still love Harry_ , she'd told Hermione one night, her voice small and wavering. _I know I shouldn't. I know it's dangerous. But I can't help it._

The anger melted away.

"I really can't tell you…" Hermione said slowly, and the stunted admission felt like a weight lifting from her shoulders. She went on, "He's… I couldn't even tell Harry about what – what's really going on…"

"But Harry asked you as well, did he?"

"Of course he did, ages ago when we were all at the Burrow. He clued right in, just like you have. But I really can't tell you anything more."

Ginny looked over her shoulder at the closed door before stepping even closer to Hermione to utter her next words.

"Is he really on our side, Hermione?"

Hermione stepped away so abruptly that she almost stumbled. It was too much to hear Ginny's rich voice speak those words – they resounded in her chest as though her friend had struck a gong.

"I don't know," she said with perfect honesty. "I don't know. But I'll find out, Ginny."

"You know who we should ask, don't you?"

Hermione felt a wave of panic.

"No, Ginny, this has to stay – "

"Yes, yes I know," her friend said impatiently, cutting Hermione off. "It has to stay completely secret because if it gets out that we think one of the DEs might be a turncloak… I know. Anyway, I was going to suggest that we ask someone with even more secrets than _you_."

Ginny gave her a significant, almost comedic look that made Hermione release a brief, reluctant chuckle.

"Who's that, then?" she asked.

"Dumbledore, of course."

* * *

They stood in the intelligence room – the brain chain, as Ginny had dubbed it – and faced a line of empty portraits. At Ginny's call, a sharp little man sidled into one of the frames, his eyebrows raised sardonically.

"Oh no," Ginny said at once. "I didn't mean for _you_ to come. Get out."

Phineas Nigellus spared Ginny a smirk before turning to Hermione.

"Miss Granger, how may I be of service?"

"Not a chance!" Ginny said. "Get out, Black, and let someone _useful_ into the frame."

"Ah, and who did you have in mind, Blood Traitor Weasley?"

Hermione stepped forward and raised a hand to cut off Ginny's angry outburst.

"We want to see Professor Dumbledore, please."

The little man raised an eyebrow.

"For _that_ , Miss Granger, you'll have to take up Divination and make contact with the other side."

"She clearly meant his portrait, you slimy Slytherin bast – "

"Ginny!" Hermione snapped. "I meant his portrait, Professor. Would you please bring the portrait of Professor Dumbledore here for us?"

"He won't speak to the two of you together," the former headmaster told her. Casting a smug glance at Ginny, he continued, "The rust-plumed harpy will have to remove herself."

"Oh, a ginger joke," Ginny snarled, "how _very_ original."

Hermione took Ginny's wrist and turned her forcibly away from the portrait.

"Please, Ginny – I need to talk to Dumbledore, and I think Phineas might be right to insist on my being alone to do it."

"After everything we just discussed?" Ginny asked angrily.

"Yes. I won't be able to speak freely in front of you, Ginny. I _can't_ tell you everything, but I promise I'll answer the question you raised as best I can after talking to Dumbledore."

"Right," Ginny said, throwing another furious glare at Phineas Nigellus, who made a rude little shooing gesture in response. "Right. I'll be in your room."

Hermione stood in front of the portraits once more after Ginny closed the door behind her.

"Would you kindly get him now, Professor Black?"

"Hmmm…" the little man said, squinting upwards and stroking a hand over his pointed beard. "I think _not_ , actually."

Hermione sighed – this wasn't unexpected.

"Allow me to rephrase, then," she said, careful to keep annoyance out of her tone. "What may I offer you, Professor Black, in exchange for conveying Professor Dumbledore's portrait here for me?"

Phineas Nigellus regarded her beadily.

"You are a great deal quicker on the uptake than you once were, Miss Granger. I will have to tell our esteemed Headmaster that his lessons have improved you in more ways than one."

"So?" she demanded, her patience wearing thin. "What do you want?"

"I want to know what happened just now between you and Professor Snape."

"No," Hermione said at once, cursing Hogwarts – _it's the least private place in the universe_ – and frowned at the deceased Headmaster. "Not a chance."

"Then I would like to sit in on your little pow-wow with Dumbledore."

Hermione weighed the demand against the question she needed to ask, and she decided to put her lessons with Snape to good use. If there was one thing the dark man had taught her, it was that she must ask the right questions.

"Done."

The little man left immediately, and didn't return until five minutes or more had passed. Phineas took one painting, and Dumbledore took the one next to his, and the latter faced Hermione gravely. She realized that, despite everything, it was good to see the wizened man. Even in this reduced state, his was still a comforting presence.

"Miss Granger, to what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked mildly.

"I have a question for you, sir," she said.

"Just one?"

"Just one."

"Then by all means," the portrait said, waving an arm in generous invitation. "Ask your question."

Hermione gathered herself carefully and tried to keep her emotions from her voice without using Occlumency.

"Did you instruct Professor Snape to kill you?"

She watched the silver-haired man, and pointedly ignored an outburst from Phineas Nigellus. Dumbledore tilted his head to one side, regarding her, and Hermione felt as though she stood before a radiograph as she waited for an answer. At last he inhaled softly.

"Severus Snape," Dumbledore said carefully, "completed his mission in every way I asked of him." He paused significantly, never looking away from Hermione. "Except one."

Her eagerness overspilled, and Hermione felt her fists clenching, her nails almost breaking the skin of her palms.

"And that was?"

Dumbledore smiled sadly at her.

"I am not permitted to say more at this time, my dear."

* * *

Ginny sat on Hermione's bed, legs crossed at the ankles, a chocolate biscuit held daintily between her forefinger and thumb.

"Want one?" she asked, offering Hermione the tin at her elbow.

Hermione took one, and nibbled a corner.

"Where did you get these?" she asked.

"Ernie and his team have been down to the kitchens talking to the house elves about supplying the Room with food."

Hermione sat down next to Ginny.

"And?"

"They can't. Not directly. They're supposed to supply the Great Hall, and any students who make their way to the kitchens, but sending food up here would have to be on direct orders from the Headmaster."

Hermione sighed and finished her biscuit.

"That's a dead end, then."

"Do you really think we'll need to move people in permanently, 'Mione?"

"Yes." Hermione said, brushing crumbs off her coverlet. "It's a matter of time, but yes, and I don't fancy the idea of constantly stealing food to bring up here. We need to operate independently."

"So…" Ginny raised her eyebrows expectantly and reached for another biscuit.

Hermione sighed again and shrugged.

"Dumbledore was sort of a dead end, too," she said quietly.

"But what did he _say_?"

Hermione recounted the conversation, and was surprised to feel relief cascade down from her clenched jaw and into her shoulders. It was incredibly good to share some of the weight she'd carried for so long.

"Huh," Ginny said thoughtfully. "What an unbelievably annoying, Slytherin-type answer."

"Quite," Hermione answered, feeling her lips twitch at the corners.

"If he's anything like the other Headmaster and Headmistress portraits, he won't be able to disobey outright orders from Snape."

"Right, but you've still managed to get a lot of the former Heads to work with the DA?"

"Oh, sure," Ginny said, stretching out on Hermione's bed and almost knocking the tin of biscuits to the floor. "Dilys explained it to me ages ago. They've got orders from the current Headmaster, but they can also act in Hogwarts's and the students' best interests as they see fit."

Hermione shook her head a little wonderingly.

"That wasn't in _Hogwarts, A History_."

Ginny rolled her eyes pointedly.

"Well, if it's not in a _book_ it mustn't be true."

Hermione poked her friend in the ribs and stretched out next to her, staring up at the dark ceiling.

"So?"

"So."

"We assume he's not."

"Until I can get evidence to the contrary, yes."

Ginny turned onto her side to face Hermione.

"And how do you feel about that, 'Mione?"

Hermione turned to face Ginny. She felt a single tear trail down her temple and slide into her hair.

"I don't know, Gin."

Ginny looked away for a moment, her pretty brow furrowed, before she looked back into Hermione's eyes.

"How do you feel about… him, Hermione?"

Hermione felt the burning heat rise in her chest at the question, the undeniable, palpable emotion she now associate with Snape…

"I want him to be with us. So badly."

Ginny nodded and then was still, her cheek pressed into Hermione's pillow.

"Find out, then," she said.

It was the enunciation of the mission Hermione had set herself at Christmas, and something about having it uttered aloud – from Ginny, no less – made the weight fall right back onto Hermione's shoulders.

* * *

The DA carried their mission forward tenaciously over the following weeks: Ginny gathered as much intelligence as she could, and she sent Neville's fighters out to break up confrontations between DEs and DA members wherever possible. The castle's ghosts and portraits proved again and again to be valuable allies, and the DA managed to make good on Harry and Ron's suggestions to impair the Carrows almost continually. Amycus was Confunded by Neville weekly; Alecto was given several astronomical doses of U-No-Poo thanks to Dobby; the Third-Year Gryffindors doused Amycus's classroom, office, and private quarters in Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder whenever they could; Alecto's nose was bitten off by a particularly vicious Nose Biting Teacup (she finally stopped taking meals in the Great Hall after that); and both Carrow's offices were so full of Dungbombs, Nifflers, magical fireworks, and Fanged Frisbees that neither sibling could retire in the evening without performing hours of clumsy spellwork. And finally, Peeves had been assigned by Neville, whom he had taken to obeying with ruthless enthusiasm, to pester the two DEs every hour on the hour. The Poltergeist threw bits of chalk at the Carrows in the hallways, blew raspberries whenever they spoke in their classrooms, sang loud, mocking rhymes at them in the Great Hall, and dripped water (and worse) on their heads at night to prevent them sleeping. As they'd done with Umbridge, the other members of the Hogwarts staff suddenly developed severe incompetence and were unable to help the Carrows in any way.

Hermione saw little of Snape, who canceled three Friday evening lessons in a row. She thought endlessly of this, wondering if the Headmaster was avoiding her purposefully – his eyes, always tracking carefully over the house tables at mealtimes, seemed to pass right over her. Hermione took to following his movements as much as she could on the Marauder's Map, which showed her that he was, in fact, away not just Friday evenings, but during the rest of the week as well. A thousand times she thought of marching up to the Head's Office to demand an explanation for all the cancellations. _He's avoiding you,_ the niggling voice said in her mind, _he regrets what happened last time and he's disgusted and you need to stop thinking about that anyway and focus on finding out if he's a turn cloak, but oh God, that kiss_ … and so on in a circular inner monologue that never seemed to end. Although she still practiced her Occlumency daily, Hermione found herself using much of her psychic energy for preventing this monologue from surfacing.

Phineas Nigellus still followed Hermione doggedly throughout the castle, and he confirmed that the Headmaster had been away a number of times, and was cancelling their meetings for that reason.

"Where does he go?" she asked in an undertone one evening as she made her way to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

"Oh, wouldn't you just love to know."

"He's not on the grounds when I check the Map, so I know he's left the school completely at least twice this past week alone."

"And what makes you think I'm aware of the locations of his sojourns outside of Hogwarts?"

Hermione glanced sideways at the sharp man, who shrugged one shoulder at her. She carried on up the corridor.

"I think you know more than the other Headmasters' portraits, Professor Black. You're the only Slytherin amongst them, after all, and I think Professor Snape is more likely to trust you than anyone else – perhaps in the whole castle."

The portrait bristled.

"If you are implying that I sympathize with the current administration's apparent _political_ leanings, you are quite mistaken!"

"That's not what I meant," she said in a measured tone as she rounded a corner. She waited for the little man to catch her up in a landscape painting before carrying on. "Unlike most in my house, _I_ don't think that all Slytherins are on You-Know-Who's side."

Phineas Nigellus's austere expression cleared immediately.

"Oh, you _are_ learning, Miss Granger. That was _almost_ subtle. Brava. Not," he waved a hand dismissively, "that it will induce me to reveal anything about our respectable Headmaster."

Hermione felt herself smile before she walked up to the girls' bathroom.

"I'll see you in a bit, then, sir?"

"I will await you here, Miss Granger. Enjoy your clandestine meeting."

"Yes, I hope it'll be more productive than this conversation has been."

Phineas Nigellus rolled his eyes, and Hermione took a deep breath, and entered Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

Draco Malfoy stood waiting for her, his hip braced against a sink. Moaning Myrtle herself hovered nearby, looking fervently at Malfoy, her lower lip trembling.

"Off you go then," Malfoy told the ghostly girl, not unkindly.

"Will you visit me again soon?" the girl asked, a distinct whine in her voice. "You haven't been down to see me in ages and ages, you know."

"Of course," he answered, giving her a wink.

Myrtle beamed at him, cast Hermione a superior sort of look, and zipped into her toilet. Without missing a beat, Hermione put up the usual privacy enchantments, ensuring that they wouldn't be overheard.

"What did you want to see me about, then?" Malfoy asked after she'd finished casting the spells. "I gather my – what did the weasel bitch call it – _intelligence_ has been useful, given what your lot have managed against the Carrows lately."

" _Don't_ ," Hermione snapped, "call Ginny that in my hearing _ever_ again, Malfoy, or I'll let her have right at you next time she tries."

He sighed.

"Reflex. Apologies."

"Yeah, right," she mumbled. She collected herself before speaking again. "I have more questions for you."

"And what do you offer in trade?"

"Well, most of the First and Second Year Slytherins are in the DA now. Are there any in the Third Year who are interested in membership?"

Malfoy's pale eyes narrowed.

"The questions?"

Hermione braced herself, and decided on sincerity with this particular Slytherin.

"Where have you and Snape been going together these past few weeks?"

Malfoy didn't skip a beat.

"What makes you think we're going anywhere together?"

Hermione narrowed her own eyes in turn.

"I've ascertained not once, but _twice_ this week that you and Snape have both left and returned to the castle within ten minutes of one another. You're not leaving nor returning together, but I think you have the same destination. I've seen it before, naturally, but I haven't noticed it happening this frequently." Hermione watched him carefully before carrying on, "And I know that the Carrows leave on alternate days, and not as often."

Malfoy let out a short sigh.

"So what do you really want to know, Granger?"

"Why does You-Know-Who summon you and Snape together?" Malfoy crossed his arms over his chest and sneered at her, and Hermione felt her back straighten rigidly. "Is it to do with what you two discuss during your weekly Tuesday meetings?"

"It's to do with the fact that the Dark Lord knows how close Severus and I are, and he sometimes uses that to his advantage during our summons."

Hermione felt her stomach roll over at the implications of that, and wondered why Malfoy hadn't been summoned this evening although Snape had been. She moved on quickly, missing her Mind's Eye and the neutrality she used to access continually through it.

"And what do you and Snape do together Tuesday nights?" she asked.

"What do _you_ do together Friday nights?"

"I'm asking the questions, Malfoy. Answer me or you'll get nothing out of this."

Malfoy smirked at her, uncrossed his arms, and turned to one of the tarnished mirrors suspended over the sink behind him. He adjusted the collar on his shirt before running a hand lazily through his hair.

"Why does it matter to you, Granger?" He turned back to her, his eyes alight. "Are you trying to plan something for one of those nights when the two of us are away or…" he smirked again, "are you hoping to cultivate another Slytherin ally?"

"I told you – "

"Fine. I'll answer you." He stepped close, and Hermione felt herself holding her breath. "Severus and I discuss this." Malfoy waved a hand between their two chests. "Among other things, we discuss the DA, the students' safety, and our respective relationships to you, _Miss_ Granger."

He walked to the door of the bathroom, breaking the privacy charms and speaking over his shoulder.

"I'll expect enrolment for all of the Third Years, Granger. _And_ the Fourths as well."

Hermione didn't answer, and Malfoy walked smoothly from the bathroom. She turned to the tarnished mirror, and closed her eyes.

* * *

A/N 2: Next chapter is written but needs a tweak or two before I post it. Hopefully it'll be up early next week. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing!


	30. Chapter 30

A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews! This chapter needed more fine-tuning than I'd anticipated, so it's a touch later than I wanted. Next chapter is on the way, and will hopefully be ready in the next week or two.

* * *

Chapter 30

She was ready at last, her forehead prickling a little painfully from all her preparation. Her stomach ached as well – she'd skipped dinner to meditate and organize her Mind's Eye... and to choose the right clothes. She'd stopped wearing her school uniform to her Friday meetings with Snape ages before, and this evening she'd changed from her jean skirt to her trousers and back again twice.

"Don't be pathetic," she whispered to herself, choosing the trousers once and for all and Banishing the skirt to her trunk. She told herself that it was because she'd not seen him in several weeks, that her nerves were because her Occlumency would be rusty, that it was because using her Mind's Eye still made her head ache… not for any other reason.

"Ahem," a voice said from behind her.

Hermione tucked in her camisole, careful not to look down at her uneven chest, and threw a loose jumper over herself before addressing the small empty portrait on the wall next to the window of her dormitory.

"Come in, Professor Black."

Phineas Nigellus appeared, looking distinctly agitated.

"What is it?" Hermione asked immediately. Her Mind's Eye worked on autopilot, filing away the answering worry his expression prompted to rise within her.

"Your lesson is cancelled this evening, Miss Granger," the portrait said.

"Again! Why?"

"The Headmaster did not instruct me to give you a reason, Granger, just to tell you that you will resume lessons next – "

"But – " Hermione tried to interrupt.

" _But_ ," the little man cut her off in turn, looking annoyed now. "I _will_ tell you that Professor Snape left the castle several minutes ago. His destination is not unknown to me, although I will not share it with you."

 _He's in trouble! No, stay calm. Think rationally. There must be a way to… of course!_

She pulled the Marauder's Map, which she'd reclaimed from the brain chain in order to move through the castle safely for her Friday meeting with Snape. It took less than a minute to confirm that although the Carrows were still in the castle, Malfoy's little dot had disappeared again. They'd been summoned together yet again. Confirming where Snape had gone redoubled Hermione's fears, and set her forehead to aching. She took down her Mind's Eye and allowed her emotions to surface. Worry arose from her gut so strongly that Hermione thought she might choke on it.

"What does this mean?" she asked Phineas Nigellus. "He's not usually summoned this often, is he?"

"It has happened before, actually," the portrait answered quietly. "But three times in one week usually means…"

"Go on." Hermione prompted, but she thought she might already know.

"It either means that there have been serious developments in his... organization, or…" Phineas paused, his brow furrowing in what Hermione was almost shocked to perceive as worry, "or it means that things here at Hogwarts are under review and that our Headmaster has something to… answer for."

Hermione's mind replayed all of the DA's actions that month, all of the successful attacks on the Carrows, and quailed. _You-Know-Who must have discerned what's been going on_ , _he must have seen some of what's happened to the Carrows if he's summoned them, and now Snape…_

"You're worried about him," she said to the portrait.

"I am," he answered, nodding with visible reluctance.

"Let's go, then."

* * *

Hermione was sneaking quietly through Hogwarts and toward the Headmaster's Office less than ten minutes later.

 _This is insane_ , she thought to herself, _he won't want to see me, and what can I do anyway, and what if he comes back with another Death Eater in tow, and…_

She arrived at the gargoyle, and spoke the password in an undertone: "Pink Floyd."

Nothing happened. _Of course, it's been weeks and he's changed the password_. She looked around for a brief moment until she located Phineas Nigellus in a painting across the hall from where she stood. She went to him carefully, and he whispered the new password to her: Pearl Jam. _Yet another band, of course,_ she thought as she submitted the password and walked up the winding stairs to the office above.

It looked the same as always, and Hermione was surprised to feel relief course through her as she settled into her usual seat to await Snape's return. She watched as Phineas Nigellus resumed his usual frame behind the large desk. The other former Headmasters and Headmistresses were away from their portraits.

"Why tonight?" she asked him. "This has been happening for a while now. Why are you so worried tonight?"

"He's been… holding things together, but only just. And as you say, it is unusual for him to be summoned this often in the span of one week."

"Has he been avoiding me?" Hermione asked. The question had plagued her for a month, and she expected Phineas to either ignore it or reprimand her for it.

"Oh, absolutely," the little man said instead. "He used to keep his Friday nights open for your meetings. He stopped doing that."

" _Why_?" she blurted.

"Why indeed?" he regarded her sharply, and Hermione had to look away.

Their conversation tapered off after that, and Hermione reached into her bag determinedly, took out the weekend's homework, and set herself up at Snape's desk. She'd managed to keep up with schoolwork despite all of her DA duties thanks, in part, to an unusually light workload from most of the teachers. _And this way I won't obsess while I wait._

In between glances at the Map, Hermione finished writing two essays, caught up on her reading (she'd had to leave off memorizing full texts this year, unfortunately), and practiced her spellwork for both Charms and Transfiguration. She was starting to feel sleepy when Phineas's sharp voice cracked into her determinedly academic thoughts.

"He's back."

Hermione, who had been slightly slumped over the desk, straightened immediately and looked at the Map.

"Where?" she asked, scanning the Map.

"Dilys has just seen him walking through the Entrance Hall with the Malfoy heir."

Hermione located the two dots immediately and watched them separate as Malfoy went down to the dungeons and the Headmaster proceeded up the staircase.

"How is he? Is he all right, is –"

"Hush!" Phineas snapped, his face turned to the side, clearly listening to someone Hermione couldn't see. She was on her feet now, and impatient.

"Yes, they're fine," Phineas said, relaying the message, "neither are injured this time, but Severus appears pale and..." He turned back to Hermione. "You'd best leave now, Miss Granger. My earlier alarm was clearly unwarranted. Off you go."

"What?" Hermione glared at the portrait, and planted her feet firmly. "No! I'm here and I'm _staying_."

"Granger, you don't want to see Severus when he's just back from what we now know was a –" the little man cut himself off with visible effort, but Hermione would have none of it.

"You _know_. You know where he's been!"

"Use the fire – Floo down to the kitchens or to the Gryffindor Common Room."

"Where was he?" She stepped around the desk so that she was confronting the portrait as directly as possible. "I'm not leaving, Phineas, so you might as well tell me."

Phineas Nigellus didn't even bother chastising her for her tone, nor her use of his given name.

"A revel. Friday nights are often revels," he said, speaking very rapidly, "and he's avoided them a long time now as he's made excuses. Lately, though, he's been attending and it's catching up with him."

"And why do you think I should leave now, when I've been waiting for him all evening?"

"He'll have been made to do… unpleasant things tonight in order to reaffirm his loyalties. Hermione, please get out of here. He won't want you to... he'll do or say something he'll – "

"It's too late, Phineas," said a woman's voice. Dilys appeared in her portrait. "He's in the hallway below already. I tried to redirect him, but he…"

The two former Heads disappeared as the door to the office opened. Hermione turned around as Snape himself stepped over the threshold. His eyes were on her, and Hermione understood what Dilys had been about to say: Snape had clearly known that he would find her here. She almost regretted her stubbornness in staying as she took in his extreme pallor, the set of his shoulders, and his blank, terrifying eyes. He approached slowly, and Hermione thought absurdly of apologizing for being behind his desk, for the schoolwork she'd left strewn about the office, for…

"What," he said deliberately, "are you doing here?"

Blood rushing in her ears – _my face must be beet-red, oh God, why does he have to look at me like that_ –

"I…" she trailed off, trying desperately to bring her Mind's Eye up as the dark man stepped forward languidly. He stopped before his desk and glanced down at the mounds of parchment and textbooks.

"Do you mistake my office for the library?"

His voice was colourless, but it affected her nonetheless. _It's the first time he's spoken to me since..._ she shut that thought off immediately.

"No," she said, finding her voice at last, and facing him squarely. Her Mind's Eye fell into place and Hermione felt neutrality settling over her firmly. "I wanted to see you to ask why you've been cancelling our sessions."

"Despite what you may think, Miss Granger," Snape answered, peering down at her essay for Professor Slughorn, "you are not the only chore with which I am charged."

"Maybe not," she said, storing her annoyance and pique carefully away as she spoke, "but you and I do have an agreement. And your cancelling my lessons every week goes against the Vow you took last September."

The dark man snorted slightly, discarded her Potions homework carelessly, and took up her Arithmancy essay instead.

"I Vowed to teach you Occlumency. I did not specify when I would do so."

"So where were you tonight, then?" Hermione asked.

Snape's black eyes met hers, and she felt a shiver rise from her gut at the blankness she saw there.

"There is only one way for you to gain that information."

His voice was quiet, but the challenge in it was unmistakable.

 _Something is off_ , she thought as she held his eyes, _he's challenging me instead of chastising_ _me_. _He's dismissive and nasty, but he's inviting a fight._ _Phineas was right to tell me to leave. I can't handle him like this_.

Hermione dropped her eyes back to the desk and busied her hands by sweeping her papers into a neat pile, which she Banished into her rucksack. She took a deep breath and walked around her desk, keeping a careful distance from Snape. She stopped to snatch up her bag, and shoved the chair she'd occupied back into place beneath the desk. The back of the chair stood between her and the dark man, who followed her movements with his hawking stare.

"I'll have that back now." She held out her hand for the Arithmancy essay. "Please," she added as an awkward afterthought.

Snape looked down at her hand outstretched over the chair, and his black eyes tracked up her wrist, her arm, her shoulder, her neck and – _a shiver ran over her_ _–_ lingered on her mouth before finally meeting her own.

"I thought you wanted a lesson this evening, Miss Granger," he said, and with a deliberate movement he took out his wand. Her essay disappeared. "I will return your typically verbose and overreaching essay on the magical properties of the number eleven when you have completed your Occlumency work."

"I can always rewrite it," she shot back, but she was already flicking her wrist, releasing her wand from its sheath and into her hand.

 _I can't just say no, not when I can find out what he's been up to_ …

"You could, but you might find that difficult, given that your essay _and_ the books you consulted to write it are now in my possession."

Hermione glared at him before checking her rucksack; it was as he'd said. The dark man smirked at her before raising his own wand to a defensive position.

"Whenever you're ready, Miss Granger," he said in a voice of almost infuriating calm.

Her wand was warm in her hand, and Hermione took a few more seconds to check over her Mind's Eye. Her defenses were in place as usual, her roiling emotions - confusion, worry, _yearning_ \- stored away carefully. _I'm as ready as I'll ever be_...

" _Legilimens!_ "

Snape's mindscape appeared around her: the bleak, beautiful plain stretched on endlessly as Hermione rotated carefully on the spot. Mist rose from the pools of thought and memory at her feet, and a sense of ensnaring invitation permeated the air around her. Like the dark man's presence in his office this evening, it was a disconcerting mixture of almost jocular dismissal and alluring provocation. As conflicting emotions arose in her chest once more, Hermione felt the dark man's impatience saturate his Mind's Eye. She did nothing, however; she stood there within his mindscape and remained, enfolded in those aspects of the dark man that Snape allowed her to perceive.

 _I could stay like this forever_ , she realized abruptly. _I've missed this_...

But she had business here, and she tentatively followed the glimmer of impatience, which led her to a pool of memory. Peering down hesitantly, Hermione saw a group of dark figures, and a starkly white face. Malfoy, surrounded by a number of –

 _He's practically offering this to me,_ she realized abruptly, on the point of diving into the memory. _He provokes this confrontation and then he offers this up? And I actually_ do _know where he's been, and I have a good idea of what he might have done. Phineas told me. And now Snape wants me to find out. But I'm not acturally here for that, and he knows it …_

Hermione made to enter the memory, but swung away at the last minute, running hard across the mindscape, jumping over misty pools. She headed straight for the blurry horizon ahead, to where she knew Snape stored of his more sensitive memories. Hermione gathered power as she moved inside his mind, and peered quickly into each pool she passed. More hooded figures bearing down on a writhing figure; Harry Potter's visage, screwed into a mask of rage; a dark woman she recognized as Snape's mother cowering in a corner. She kept running until... _There!_ A glimpse of her own face, set into lines of concentration – Hermione dove.

A memory coalesced around her: she and Snape stood in this very office, holding onto one another after a particularly harsh lesson – _it's the same one I used to try and stop him last time we did this_ , Hermione realized immediately. She felt herself grimacing in concentration through the slight pain in her forehead as she bore down on the memory. Through the haze of psychic connection, Snape's eyes were wide with the surprise she felt coiling around her. She let the memory play and, as she'd hoped, an echo of the emotions Snape had felt at the time arose slowly around them both as they watched. Hermione seized on that emotion – just the slightest, thinnest shade of something she couldn't quite discern, and pushed forward into the next memory connected to it.

Now they were in the office again, and memory-Hermione was running her hand through memory-Snape's lank hair as he pointedly looked away. She pressed on to the next memory – Snape giving a prostrate Hermione potions on a conjured couch – and on until she at last she saw what she'd been avoiding for a month now, what _he'd_ surely been avoiding too – and drove herself forward into it. She watched as memory-Hermione held herself gently against memory-Snape and pressed her lips carefully to his. Reining in her own emotions, Hermione found the thread of Snape's emotions – _overwhelming surprise, voluptuous passion, and an underlying sorrow_ – and sprang after the latter emotion into the next memory.

Now she watched as memory-Snape bent over his desk in resignation, as a voice she recognized as Dumbledore's rang out over his head: "It is imperative that you keep your head, Severus, now more than ever." Beyond memory-Snape, Hemione recognized her own prone figure sprawled out on a Transfigured sofa across the office… a half-formed recollection of this same heated conversation came to her as memory-Snape sent parchment, quills, ink, books, and potion vials crashing from the desk onto the stone floor with an angry sweep of his arm.

Snape's eyes – watching all of this while he concentrated on containing his evident curiosity at Hermione was doing, suddenly narrowed. And at last he countered her, pressing back against her, trying to keep her from seeing… what? She redoubled her efforts, despite the possibility that he'd invert the connection. _Even if he did, what would he see? Probably the same thing but from my side. And I'd hopefully get to see more of this that way…_

"You'll wake the girl," Dilys said from inside the memory, which was blurry and falling away rapidly as Snape fought Hermione's psychic hold, "if you carry on throwing things, young man. Calm yourself."

"Would _you_ be calm in such a situation, Dilys?" snarled memory-Snape. "Would _you_ be capable of standing by while… while…"

Snape broke the psychic connection with a flare of magic. Hermione staggered a little, her shoulder stinging, holding onto the back of the chair next to her at the sudden ejection from his mind. She breathed slowly to calm her racing heart.

"What hell was that?" His voice was colourless again, but Hermione wasn't fooled; she'd unsettled him deeply enough that he'd preferred to disengage her with a Stinging Jinx rather than using his formidable Legilimency to invert the connection and take advantage of the depth of her attack. Yes, it might have carried them both right back into the same memory from her side, but she'd left herself open enough that he could have moved just about anywhere within her mind.

Instead, he stood before her, hooded eyes glinting, and when she looked down she fancied she saw his hands shaking. She met his eyes again and consciously and deliberately took down her own Mind's Eye. Her feelings for the man surged forward, but Hermione refused to panic in the midst of it all. Instead, she straightened her spine and regarded him evenly. She didn't need Occlumency for this particular confrontation.

"Legilimency," she said smartly, answering his question.

A shadow descended over his face, and Snape stepped forward.

"What do you think you're playing at, girl?" he demanded, anger pitching his voice lower.

"I had a talk with Dumbledore's portrait recently." Her voice was calm although mind tried to go into overdrive as she spoke. She kept herself present as she carried on, "And even though he didn't give me the answers I wanted, I have an idea of how to find them now."

Hermione kept facing him, holding her ground, her eyes on his, before she deliberately turned her back on the dark man and lifted her rucksack.

"What are you doing?" the dark man demanded.

"I'm leaving," she said, going calmly around the chair that separated the two of them.

Snape stepped in front of her, blocking her way out of the office.

"We're not through here."

"No, but it's late and I'm tired and I've decided that I don't need to know where you've been tonight. I can guess well enough, and there is more valuable information to be had from you anyway." She stared at his shoulder as she spoke. "And I can remember enough of the essay _and_ my books to put something together for my Arithmancy homework without too much difficulty."

She moved on, but stopped when she felt a warm, long-fingered hand close over her wrist.

"Granger," he said from behind her. He said it simply, but there was something beneath his deep voice. Something dark and tempting that might surge over her should she turn around and face him.

"I haven't seen you for a month," she said, her eyes focused determinedly on the door that would lead her from him and his perplexing presence, from the deep feeling she had seen in him before he'd cut off her attack, and that hint of _answers_. She let all of her confusion and feeling into her voice when she spoke again: "I've missed you."

He let her go, and Hermione heard him move away. She turned slowly, and saw that Snape was facing away from her, leaning against the opposite side of his desk, his head bowed slightly.

 _I should leave. I've done all I can tonight, and I know a bit more than I did before, and I know how to find out even more next time, and I should just stop while I'm ahead…_

She thought it, and yet she moved forward, dropped her bag, and skirted the desk to stand before the dark man. He'd hunched in on himself slightly so that he was a small black stain in the midst of the opulent office.

Snape didn't look up as she approached, and so Hermione had to push back that curtain of black hair in order to see his face. She stepped forward carefully and glanced briefly at his eyes – pained and strained and full of that ardour she'd followed through his Mind's Eye – before pressing her closed lips to the hollow of one flushed cheek. He took a deep, almost inaudible breath, and Hermione felt his black-clad chest brush her own as she moved up onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his sharp cheekbone. Snape stood frozen, hands at his sides, his eyes staring straight ahead, as he allowed her to trail her lips up to his temple, back over his gaunt cheek, and then down over his jaw. She stopped, looking at his mouth, which had gone white with restraint.

 _This is…_ the nattering voice was back, and louder than ever. _This is insane…_ She stepped away from Snape, feeling the colour rising into her cheeks, her boldness giving way to trepidation. _How could I ever think he'd want this?_

She was about to turn away when the motionless man came to vivid life and moved with her, countering her retreat with a step so sudden that Hermione stumbled. Snape caught her with a hand on her shoulder; his other hand came up to tilt her head back and he bent forward to plant his lips on the hollow of her cheek, just as she'd done to him. She inhaled sharply, relief and confusion and heat stealing over her along with the scent of woodsmoke and herbs as the dark man's lips roved over her face in precisely the same pattern she'd followed traced earlier. When he came to the edge of her jaw, Snape moved downwards, and Hermione felt the hand he'd buried in her hair tilt her head back until her neck was straight and straining and waiting for his eager mouth.

"Oh," she heard herself murmur as the dark man's lips descended on her pulse point, coaxing blood to the surface of her skin and igniting fire all through Hermione's body. He growled in response and moved with slow, deliberate, sucking kisses down the side of her throat until he reached the hollow of her shoulder. Stitches popped as he pulled her jumper aside to trace the hollow of her collarbone, ever so slowly and gently, with the tip of his tongue.

Her hands moved of their own accord, clutching Snape to her, pulling at his shoulders as he moved back to her neck, fixed his lips on her pulse point once more and _sucked_.

"Oh, _God_ ," she whispered, "I – "

She was cut off when Snape – eyes heavy-lidded and glittering – surged back up to cover her lips with his own. There was no hesitation anymore. Hermione opened to him at once, sliding her tongue against his, and a thrill went through her and weakened her knees when she both heard and felt him moan into her mouth. His hands had left her shoulders, and moved down, pushing her up and onto the desk. Hermione pressed her knees together as the heat pooling in her belly went down lower, and she felt Snape's erection pressing against her. He deftly insinuated a knee between her thighs, and Hermione felt a flash of panic. She broke the kiss.

"Wait, I – " What was she trying to say? Snape looked down at her, the fire still alight in his eyes, the blood still pinking his cheeks. It was a different man who stared down at her now than the cold-blooded, blank creature who'd met her in this office earlier that night, and Hermione was unsure if she could handle this man any better than she had the other.

"…I think we should stop there," she said at last.

Snape let go of her instantly, and backed away a careful distance. But he held her eyes firmly, and in their depths Hermione saw a promise of something that made her shiver once more.

"Are you…" she felt breathless. She ran a hand through her hair and discovered that it had gone quite wild while they'd been – "Are you going to start avoiding me again?" she asked.

"No," Snape answered, and the simple negative held enough suggestion to redouble the heat burning in her very core.

"OK. That's – that's good." She bent down quickly and retrieved her rucksack. "I'll… I'll just go then, shall I? But I'm glad that we had this… that is, I'll be glad to start our lessons again and that we'll…"

He said nothing to this inane chatter, and Hermione thanked him silently for humouring her incoherent babbling. With burning cheeks, she turned away from Snape at last and made her way across the office. She paused at the door and turned back a final time. The dark man still stood behind the desk, following her with attentive, ravenous eyes.


	31. Chapter 31

A/N 1: Thank you all so much for your amazing reviews, and for your incredible patience. I've not been able to write nearly as much as I'd like to lately, but I'm working on this story as much as I can.

* * *

Chapter 31

"Welcome, dear friends, to the second episode of Potterwatch!" the ringing, upbeat voice of Lee Jordan echoed through the Room of Requirement, and Hermione peered around at the grinning faces of the DA surrounding her. It was Saturday night, and they had gathered around the wireless the Room had chivalrously provided. "I'm River, your humble host, and my first order of business is to apologize for the long wait since our first episode. We were kicked off the airwaves by a round of raids during the last month from those pesky Death Eaters. But we've found a new hidey-hole and we're coming right back at you with news from the Light! Before we carry on with our programme I will, with a heavy heart, announce those deaths that the Daily Prophet has neglected to report in their inaccurate news coverage of the Wizarding World…"

Hermione sat between Ginny and Professor McGonagall, who'd stepped into the DA Headquarters for the first time that evening, to raucous applause from the members. She was relieved to hear Lee's voice, as Professor McGonagall had stopped hearing from him and the other members of the Potterwatch team weeks earlier. Hermione listened attentively to the list of names Lee Jordan read out, and then bowed her head during the minute of silence that followed.

"And now to start our programme off on the right foot," Lee continued in a cheerier voice, "here is Royal to update us on the new Wizarding order."

"Thanks, River," came the deep, soothing voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt, "I want to start out with a general warning for everyone listening tonight. The Death Eaters have indeed begun bi-weekly raids over the past month or so. Be very wary during daylight hours, and do not under any circumstances open your doors at night." He went on at length about protective measures and appropriate points of retreat should listeners be faced with an invasion of Death Eaters. "The most important thing to remember," he continued, "is strength in numbers. The Death Eaters are employing fear tactics liberally now, and they are mobilizing divisive manoeuvres. Use passwords, friends. Use codes and revealing spells, and most of all, trust one another."

"Excellent instructions all around, Royal!" Lee said heartily. "And what would you advise for those wizards that live alongside Muggles in the current climate?"

"I would advise what we went over in the first episode," Kingsley answered slowly. "It costs nothing to cast a few protective spells and, for those Muggles who are injured, to employ some Healing magic."

"Thank you, Royal, for highlighting the importance of treating Muggles with compassion, as we know the Death Eaters have been targeting them regularly, and brutally." A short pause, and Lee went on again, "And now for the popular feature Pals of Potter, here is Romulus!"

"Thanks, River," the tired voice of Remus Lupin answered. "Despite the ever-tightening hold of the Death Eaters on the Wizarding World, there remain many faithful members of the Light working against the new order. Hogwarts, especially, has seen a strong wave of resistance from the group of students calling themselves Dumbledore's Army – " a wave of boisterous applause, whoops, and cheers rang out in the Room. Hermione waved for silence, which fell slowly as Lupin carried on, "… both with diplomacy and outright combat. We commend the work this determined group of young people are doing in order to prevent Hogwarts becoming a fully operational Death Eater stronghold. Be careful, dear friends, but do keep moving forward…"

The rest of the programme focused on more encouragement for members of the Order of the Phoenix, how to evade teams of Snatchers, and further Muggle and Muggleborn protection measures. At last, Lee Jordan took up the microphone once more.

"That's our show for tonight," he said with determined cheerfulness. "We should be back on the airwaves again early next week with another episode of Potterwatch! Twiddle those dials, friends, and use the password Sirius. Until then, keep each other safe. Keep faith. Good night."

* * *

"That was brilliant!" Harry's cramped writing scrawled across Hermione's twinned parchment. She smiled to herself, imagining her friend's jubilant expression, so many miles away.

"I'm glad you two were able to listen this time," she answered. "Any developments on your end?" It was something of a loaded question; the boys had reached dead end after dead end, and Hermione could tell that it was starting to wear on both of them in different, disturbing ways.

"Nothing on the Horcruxes," came Harry's reply, and Hermione tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at the messy writing. "But I really think there might be something there with the Hallows, you know. Dumbledore DID refer to them, I'm sure of it, in – "

Hermione couldn't forbear it, and so she cut across him, sending her quill into a rapid, untidy frenzy: "Harry, we've been over and over and OVER this. Dumbledore told you – told US – to look for Horcruxes. He never once mentioned the Hallows to you, and we know that the mark could be anything from a reference to the Hallows to an homage to Grindelwald, with whom Dumbledore was corresponding." She shook her head as her words disappeared from the parchment. She went on a moment later sure that, all those miles away, her friend was fuming. "I will give you that maybe Dumbledore and Grindelwald were making a tacit reference to an old Wizarding story, but I don't think it has any bearing on our mission whatsoever. Please, Harry, I'm begging you to drop this. Ron has told me that you've been unproductive lately, that he's been pretty much alone in figuring things out, and that you've taken a real backseat. You have to remember what Dumbledore instructed us to do!"

It was Ron's loopy writing that appeared next.

"He's gone, 'Mione. He…" the writing paused for a moment before resuming, "he's not doing well, and I don't think he needed that right now."

Hermione felt burning shame flare to life in her chest as she pictured Harry, his scar standing out more sharply than usual, slamming his way out of the small, smelly tent and into the middle of nowhere.

"I'm sorry, Ron. Tell him I'm sorry. I… I'm worried that things aren't progressing. I don't know how long we can hold our end here at Hogwarts. Things are on the upswing against the Carrows for the moment, but it can only last so long before they figure out how we've been besting them."

"I know, Hermione, but Harry he's… he's just sitting around, really. I try to get him interested in finding Horcruxes, but he just… won't."

"What is he _doing_?"

"I'm not sure. He just sits. On his bunk. He reads that barmy Skeeter book about Dumbledore over and over, and sometimes I can hear him muttering, but he won't say what it is he's trying to do."

Hermione thought about Harry. About the Horcruxes, and the Hallows, and the scar across her best friend's forehead. Her own forehead prickled as a thought arose in her mind.

"Has he been seeing into You-Know-Who's mind, Ron?"

The reply was instantaneous, as though Ron had been on the edge of telling her exactly what she'd been afraid of: "I think he might be trying."

"WHY?" she penned as quickly as she could.

"I'm not sure, but it's not like I can stop him."

"Ron, you HAVE to. You absolutely can't let him reopen that connection!"

There was a pause, and Hermione ran a hand through her bushy hair, trying not to imagine Harry sitting alone on his bunk, reading the thoughts of an ever more powerful Voldemort.

"How was Upper Flagley?" she wrote next, remembering the boys' plan to investigate the Wizarding village.

"Nothing," Ron wrote back.

And so they went over it again, she and Ron: the places they knew that Voldemort had lived or worked, had recruited or murdered, until the hour was late and Hermione finally had to tell her friend a weary good night.

"Watch your back, 'Mione."

"I will. And try to keep Harry on track. I know it's hard for him. Send him my love."

A brief pause, and then:

"And me? Do I get some love too?"

Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she stared at the large, well-proportioned letters. Her mind flashed to a pair of black eyes watching her before she thought of Ron's red hair and freckles, his long nose and wide grin. _There used to be something there, but now_ …

"Of course," she answered a beat later, "my love to you both."

* * *

She was overseeing dinner in the Great Hall the next week when Malfoy caught her eye from the Slytherin table. Hermione glanced quickly at the High Table, to where the Carrows were conspicuous only by their absence. Snape presided over dinner from his place in the centre of the table, his gaze sweeping deliberately across the Hall. Hermione looked away quickly when his dark eyes landed on her, and then she glanced back at Malfoy, before nodding minutely, and excusing herself from the Gryffindor table five minutes later.

"Everything OK?" Neville asked in an undertone as she hefted her rucksack onto her shoulder.

"Impromptu meeting with the ferret," she said, using the DA code word for Malfoy.

Neville glanced down the table at Ginny, who faced the Ravenclaws that evening, and made a quick hand sign. The redhead nodded grimly, understanding that she and Neville would be in charge of supervising the remainder of the evening meal, as well as the return of the DA members to their respective Common Rooms.

"Parvati's on watch in Headquarters," Neville reminded her quietly. "She'll – "

"I know," Hermione said. "She'll send the fighters if need be. But I'm sure I'll be fine. I'd best go."

She smiled happily, feeling the forced expression fall away from her face quickly as she turned away from the Gryffindors and walked briskly out of the Great Hall. She did not look at the Headmaster as she left, but she thought that could feel his intense stare following her.

"What?" she demanded as soon as she and Malfoy were alone, this time in a concealed alcove near the Slytherin Common Room.

"They're planning something," he said simply, his grey eyes intent and direct. "And it's coming soon."

"You-Know-Who?" Hermione asked, her usual brusque feelings for Malfoy giving way to a fear that rose along her back and sent shivers down her spine. Malfoy was usually so blasé, his manner so carefully calculated that she had often wondered whether he himself might be employing Occlumency during their brief meetings. Now, though…

"He's been asking questions about Hogwarts lately," Malfoy went on rapidly.

"Asking who?"

"All of us – the Carrows and me… and Severus. We all report the same things, but I think the Dark Lord has been summoning the Carrows on their own the last few times to get more information out of them."

"So you've all been what – _lying_ to You-Know-Who about the DA and everything here?"

"Don't be thick," Malfoy said, so much contempt suddenly in his voice that Hermione felt herself blushing, "no one can do that and live. No, we've just been sticking with those facts the Dark Lord most wants to hear, and he's mostly accepted that, but it couldn't last forever with everything you lot have been getting away with."

"Getting away with?" Hermione spat, her voice rising. " _That's_ what you call defending ourselves from _your_ lot?"

Malfoy glanced over his shoulder at the tapestry that concealed them. Hermione had rarely seen him nervous. A suspicion ran through her, but she held her ground.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Yes. Getting away with," he said firmly, before continuing, "You watch the Carrows' comings and goings, don't you?" Hermione nodded. Malfoy took a step closer. "So you saw them leave this afternoon?"

It wasn't the way he said it, nor the careful expression on his face, nor anything in his eyes. It was the way he was turned toward her fully, shoulders and hips and even the toes of his expensive dragonhide loafers; he'd never given her his full attention before, not without physically telegraphing his disdain and antipathy. _Soon…_ _or NOW… it's happening NOW and he's brought me here to…_

"When?" she demanded at once, feeling her stomach plunge. _Oh, God, what if they're already… of course they are._ "Damn it, Malfoy," her voice was a hiss, " _where_?"

"I couldn't stop them," Malfoy said, ignoring her question, and squaring his shoulders. He glanced down at where Hermione held her wand on him. "Blast me aside, Granger, and you'll know even less than you think you do now."

"You fucking _traitor_ ," she spat, and her wand hand shook with the force of her anger. "Tell me. NOW."

"Agree that you'll stay here," came his answer, and Hermione saw a faint blush rising in his cheeks despite his apparent composure. "And I'll tell you everything."

"Why? _Why_ are you trying to keep me here?" But she through she already knew…

"Orders from Severus. It'll be over soon enough anyway."

"Last chance," she said, dismissing her roiling emotions as she brought her Mind's Eye came up. Malfoy's nostrils flared, and he twitched his hand in a way that told Hermione he'd had his wand up his sleeve, but she'd already primed the spell:

" _Legilimens_!" she cried, and Malfoy's grey eyes widened as Hermione dove into his psyche.

A Mind's Eye came up immediately, confirming Hermione's suspicions. She stood in the drawing room of an opulent mansion – _his parents' house?_ – the high ceilings, mullioned windows, and moving paintings spoke of wealth, and the flickering of candlelight around her made Hermione feel like she saw everything from inside a haze. The proportions of the house were off; it was a huge, expansive space that changed and warped oddly as she observed it, trying to discern the thread of Malfoy's feelings. _There_ – a wisp of something that attempted to hide itself away behind a lavish sofa: she grasped it and felt… _panicky defiance._ The feelings suffused her as she pressed forward, entering a memory adjacent to the narrow, shifting space between the sofa and the bay window.

Memory-Malfoy knelt in a large circle of hooded figures – Voldemort himself stood in the middle of the circle, rotating slowly on the spot and fixing each Death Eater with his livid, scarlet stare. When his gaze met Malfoy's, that panicky defiance rolled through the memory, and Hermione felt Malfoy himself squirm psychically as Voldemort began to question him.

"And how go your studies, Draco?" the high, sickly voice asked.

"Very well, my Lord," memory-Malfoy answered at once.

"And do you convey the… _lessons_ you learn among your fellow Death Eaters to your associates in Slytherin?"

"Of course, my Lord."

"Then _why_ …" the voice became a dangerous hiss, "do I still see the noncompliance of so many students within the minds of your superiors at Hogwarts?"

"My Lord," came a woman's voice from across the circle. Hermione felt fear and hatred suffuse her when she recognized that voice. "My Lord, do allow me to attend the Slytherins at Hogwarts. I'm _sure_ that with my instructions all resistance will fall away."

Voldemort looked towards the speaker, and then turned back to memory-Malfoy.

"Your aunt clearly believes that those in charge at Hogwarts are not performing adequately, Draco. I wonder…" the tall figure drifted sideways, "what you think of such an implication, Severus?"

Hermione felt her stomach clench, and she looked at where Voldemort's empty eyes were now fixed. A figure on its knees drew back its hood, and her professor's pale visage appeared. His dark eyes focused intently on Voldemort, his face set into lines of perfect nonchalance.

"It is preposterous, my lord," he said, his deep voice sonorous in the small space. "Bella would have the students torture and maim one another into compliance. She would have us cripple the next generation of magical practitioners before they can become loyal subjects to the new order. _I_ , as you know, believe in the judicious use of force and the careful _persuasion_ of young minds to our way of thinking. There may yet be resistance mounting at Hogwarts, but it is tempered by our ever-growing influence."

"My lord," Bellatrix rejoined in her rapid, rasping voice, "that is a position of _weakness_. _SNAPE_ is _weak_. Allow me to attend Hogwarts and I promise you it will take but _one_ example to turn the tide with _my_ methods."

Snape, ignoring Bellatrix completely, looked only at Voldemort, who returned his gaze silently. Hermione felt herself almost buzzing with the dual needs to hang onto this memory, and to break the psychic connection and return to the Great Hall. _If Bellatrix Lestrange herself is in Hogwarts_ _right now_ …

"Who should the example be, Severus?"

The dark man paused for just a moment, his countenance betraying nothing.

"Neville Longbottom," he said, and Hermione felt herself blanch.

She ripped her psyche out of the memory, and severed the connection to Malfoy's splendid Mind's Eye.

"You let _her_ into the castle?" she asked Malfoy, who glared at her.

"If you'd watched the rest of the memory," he spat angrily, "you'd have your answer. Go on, then. You're such a good, brave, _strong_ Gryffindor – break into my mind again, Granger!"

"You prepared that memory, you dirty little ferret!" she heard her voice rising, felt electricity crackling through her wild hair. "You were distracting me!"

"I was letting you see that there was no other choice!" Hermione had never seen Malfoy so angry. "I was going to _show_ you all of this, but instead you decided that I'm a fucking _traitor_ and that you had a right to – "

"Shut UP!" Hermione shouted. "Tell me _now_ what they're going to do!"

Malfoy glared at her, fury evident in every feature, before he spoke again.

"Severus convinced the Dark Lord to stay away from Hogwarts, but he accepted Aunt Bella's idea of making one of the DA into an example. She and a few others have gone to capture Longbottom's grandmother – they've been tracking Order members for ages, as I've told you before – and they're going to use her to – "

Hermione didn't wait for him to finish, and she blasted him aside when he stepped up to try and block her way again. She swiped aside the tapestry and raced through the dungeons and back towards the Great Hall.

* * *

A/N 2: Another cliff-hanger... I'll smack the backs my naughty writer's hands on all of your behalves ;). Next chapter is in the works and will hopefully be up next week.


	32. Chapter 32

A/N: Lots of new readers this past week (some of whom have very ambitiously read this entire story in one sitting) - thank you guys for reading, messaging and reviewing! To the usual suspects: you rock my world with your enthusiasm and encouragement.

* * *

Chapter 32

Hermione raced along the dark dungeon corridors, her mind beating as furiously as her feet against the stone floor.

"Miss Granger!" a voice shouted from beside her. Hermione spared only a glance for Phineas Nigellus, who ran alongside her through paintings. "Miss Granger, you must go back. There is nothing you can do – "

Hermione ignored him and carried on through a secret passage that would take her up to the Entrance Hall. Phineas was there when she emerged, but she disregarded the little man again and primed her wand as she crossed the deserted Entrance Hall, listening with all her might for sounds from within the Great Hall.

"Severus has everything perfectly under control," Phineas said from a painting at Hermione's elbow. "There is truly nothing to be done, Granger."

She heard nothing through the thick oaken doors, and so Hermione drew a deep breath, and turned to Phineas. _I'm not prepared for this –_

"Tell-me-everything-you-know," she said in one quick rush of breath.

"Severus had to make a concession, Granger – it was inevitable. But he _will_ keep the students as safe as he can."

"Has Parvati sent out the DA's fighters?" Hermione demanded.

"She has not – there was no opportunity for an alert to reach her because the Headmaster took measures…" he trailed off.

Hermione glared at him.

"You will tell me what those measures are – in _detail_ – later. And who will I find in there?" she continued, gesturing at the door.

"The Carrows have joined the Headmaster, no one else. Hermione," his voice lowered and a pleading note entered his tone, "lower your wand if you go in there. You do not want to turn this into a fight. You _will_ lose, and… that is the last thing Severus would want."

"Noted," Hermione spat, keeping her wand up as she reached for the door handle. "Anything else?"

"If you refuse to listen to reason, then at least give me a ten second advantage of you," the little man snapped, and he disappeared from the frame without waiting for an answer.

Hermione took a deep breath and checked over her Mind's Eye.

One one-thousand.

 _He had to make a concession._

Two one-thousand.

 _Because of what we've been getting away with._

Three one-thousand.

 _Because of how we've managed the Carrows…_

Four one-thousand.

… _and kept ourselves safe…_

Five one-thousand.

… _mostly safe, anyway._

Six one-thousand.

 _And now… 'it was inevitable,' and so now…_

Seven one-thousand.

 _An image of Neville's formidable Gran in her vulture-adorned hat in St. Mungo's…_

Eight one-thousand.

 _Her obvious pride in her family's tragedy…_

Nine one-thousand.

 _Neville's mum stepping forward with her blank face and blank stare to hand Neville…_

TEN.

* * *

Snape stood in front of the High Table with Neville Longbottom straight-backed and stony-faced before him. The Carrows, a pair of grinning ghouls, stood at either end of the Hall, one in front of the Gryffindor table, the other close to the Ravenclaws. Everyone else – teachers and students alike – was completely and utterly immobile. Many students were poised with forks halfway to their mouths, with their goblets spilling pumpkin juice down their fronts, or with their mouths open in obvious – and obviously halted – conversation. Hermione looked from the Hall of frozen students and teachers to the dark man.

"What's going on here?" she asked in a voice that sounded stronger than she felt.

"Oh, let me have the Mudblood-that-was," crowed Alecto Carrow, who had already turned her wand on Hermione.

"No need, Alecto," Snape answered smoothly. "I believe that Miss Granger will assess the situation correctly and realise she has but one move to make."

His black eyes met her own, and Hermione felt herself crumble inside; Neville, standing at Snape's left, his hands clearly fastened together behind his back, widened his eyes and shook his head. Hermione nodded once at him; as Phineas said, this was not a fight she could possibly win. She brought up her Mind's Eye again and sank gratefully into the neutrality she found there.

"Excellent," Snape said with a sneer, and turned back to Neville. "Now, as I was saying, Mr. Longbottom before we were rudely interrupted, you have a choice to make this evening. I have projected your grandmother's capture and detainment for you to see –" he waved his wand and the silvery image of a familiar elderly woman struggling against her bonds coalesced between them – "it is up to you whether she is allowed to live or die. If the former, you will dismantle the efforts of your – " Snape's lip curled further – "colleagues, and you will commit yourself to a _peaceful_ ending of your seventh year here at Hogwarts. If, however, you choose to carry on…" he waved his wand and the silvery picture between them turned red before falling away into mist.

"You fucking snake!" Neville yelled, his face blotchy, his voice ringing throughout the eerily silent Hall. Alecto Carrow cackled in answer, and her brother joined in so that the three voices blended together in a cacophony in the echoing space. The other students and teachers remained in their statues' poses. Neville jerked his chin at the immobilized students. "Set them free, first."

Snape shook his head.

"The potion will wear off in two minutes regardless of your decision," he said. "They have little to do with it, although I did want them present as witnesses of your… _capitulation_ ," he put a nasty emphasis on the last word, and Hermione felt and filed away a boiling rage. "Your answer – _now_ , Longbottom."

"Yes!" Neville screamed. "I bloody fucking agree!"

"Excellent," Snape said again in that clipped voice.

He waved his wand, freeing Neville's hands, which were balled into white-knuckled fists, before turning away and marching up the aisle between the tables towards Hermione.

"Amycus," his voice rang out, deep and harsh and with an edge that made Hermione's pulse beat faster, "you escort the Gryffindors to their Common Room. Alecto, you will accompany the Hufflepuffs. Miss Parkinson, the Ravenclaws, Mr. Nott, the Slytherins. And," he glanced over his shoulder half-carelessly, half-threateningly at the High Table, "I will expect to see every member of the faculty in the staff room in ten minutes' time. We have _many_ new directives to discuss."

As he spoke, several of the younger students began to move slowly, turning their heads, blinking their eyes. When he reached her, Snape paused alongside Hermione.

"Miss Granger," he said in an undertone, "see that everyone reaches their Common Rooms."

Hermione felt herself nod stiffly, and the dark man swept from her side. She checked the Gryffindor table and saw a visibly shaken Ginny already marshalling the younger students around her, some of whom were crying. She watched as Professor McGonagall staggered forward to put a clumsy arm around Neville. The other teachers came to their feet unsteadily as well, their wands ready in their hands, their wary eyes on the Carrows, who glanced around with smug grins.

* * *

"Alright, the Room is clear," Hermione told Neville much later that evening, "are you ready?"

"I still think you should do it, 'Mione."

"No. You've managed perfectly so far. If anyone is going to get food and… and everything else we'll need soon enough into that Room, it's you." Waves of despair washed over Hermion as she spoke. "It's you who needs the Room most right now, after all."

The young man looked down at his shoes, a splotchy, angry blush rising into his cheeks. The evening had sped by in a horrible sequence of events they still hadn't been able to unpack, but neither of them could rest until this was done. Hermione looked down at the Marauder's Map yet again.

"Hurry, Neville," she said. "There are still two junior DEs in each of the Common Rooms, but the Carrows look like they're patrolling the corridors now."

"I got it, 'Mione… just one more minute."

He stood in the hallway across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, his eyes screwed shut in concentration. Hermione glanced sideways at where Phineas Nigellus sat sentinel in a tiny painting of magically dancing fruit. He nodded to her, and she sent him a swift smile. He'd proven his worth that evening by keeping Hermione and Neville apprised of the new regulations Snape was imposing over the school, of what the DEs were saying to one another, and everything else he thought might be useful.

"There!" Neville's voice held a muted note of triumph. "There it is."

The same door as always had appeared in the wall, and Hermione reached forward immediately to swing it open. The room looked much the same, but with a few noticeable differences: it was smaller, the DA's practice space was gone, a hammock swung in one corner next to a chest of drawers and a hat stand, and a new painting of a young girl standing in a dark space had appeared in the far wall.

"You… you kept my dormitory," Hermione said, turning slowly on the spot to take in the changes.

"I did. I thought of asking for my own, but I have a feeling more DA members will be joining us soon enough, and even though I'd like to camp out here with everyone else, I thought you might need your space."

"Thanks, Neville," she said, grateful that he'd facilitated her continued communiqués with Harry and Ron without knowing it. She walked across the room and stood before the painting, whose subject smiled down at her benignly. "What do you make of this?"

"I think that's to do with the food problem," Neville answered. He addressed the painting: "Hi. Do you have something to show us?"

The girl smiled in a vague, slightly sad way and gestured to him.

"Wait, does she…?" Neville looked down at his hand, and back up at the portrait.

"No, you can't possibly – " Hermione started, but he had already stepped forward and – Hermione felt herself draw in a sharp gasp as the painting swung forward. Neville stepped inside a dark passage behind it, and the painting promptly swung shut again. Neville appeared in the painting, his hair, clothing, and skin blending perfectly into the oils as he walked quickly, hand-in-hand, with the young girl down what now looked like a long, deep tunnel.

* * *

"This is brilliant," Ginny declared. She, Hermione and Neville sat in the centre of the newly-refurbished DA Headquarters, examining the provisions Neville had brought back from the Hog's Head. "And does he really look like Dumbledore?"

"Oh yeah," Neville answered, putting a tin of biscuits onto a shelf that appeared obligingly at his elbow, "the spitting image, really. He was right surprised to see me climbing out onto his mantelpiece, I tell you, but he was pretty excited when I told him more about us. Like I said," he gestured at the baskets of food he'd piled underneath the portrait of Ariana Dumbledore, "he's got plenty of food whenever we need it, but he did say that we should multiply and enlarge it so that it goes further."

"Of course," Hermione said at once. Relief at this resolution to one of the DA's biggest problems, and sorrow at what was now happening to them warred within her breast, and she turned to Ginny. "How is Michael now?"

"He's…" Ginny shook her head somberly, "I haven't seen him myself, mind, but Sir Nicholas says that they hurt him badly. Thank goodness Peeves managed to distract the Carrows long enough for Madam Pomfrey to get him to the Hospital Wing."

"And the first-year they'd been chaining up?"

"He's back in the Hufflepuff Common Room. Michael managed to release him before they… before…" Ginny trailed off.

"I'm sorry I didn't see it happening on the Map quickly enough to…" Hermione trailed off, the regret rising in her chest and threatening to overspill into outright wretchedness. She took a deep breath and went on, "I think he'd best stay in here as soon as he's well enough to be moved."

"Absolutely," Neville said at once. "And maybe you and Ginny, too."

Hermione looked at the redhead, whose lips were twitching, and who had let a strand of her long hair conceal her eyes.

"No. I can't stay in here, Neville. Ginny should, of course, if that's what she wants to do, and you should as well, but I won't be able to stand it if I just…"

"No. Bloody. Way." Neville's voice was calm, but his eyes shimmered as he spoke in that same strong ringing tone that had brooked no weakness in his earlier confrontation with Snape. "Gran wouldn't want me trapped in here, cowering, especially not after…"

"Then we're agreed," Hermione said. "We'll keep on going. Even if it's only the three of us. We can't ask the rest of the DA to, but we'll… we'll be as careful as possible, and we'll use this place as a point of retreat as necessary, but we'll keep right on fighting."

The other two nodded, but Hermione couldn't help but notice that Ginny didn't meet her eyes, and that Neville wore a determined, but faraway expression.

 _It's not war anymore, even if we haven't lost entirely. It's siege. And it might just crush us all._

* * *

Hermione stood rigidly in her room much later that night. The clock on the wall told her it was long past midnight, the Map told her almost everyone in the castle was abed, but Hermione stood in her room and stared at the blank wall. Everything replayed in her mind, and still she stood there, in that same horrid in-between space. _In limbo_ , she thought to herself, _I've been in limbo for months and months. And now… I'm done._ _And I wish – no. NO more wishing. I want…_

She hadn't been asking for anything outright. In her Muggleborn way, she supposed she must have forgotten what she was and where she stood, and so Hermione was intensely surprised when a tall mahogany door popped into existence in the empty wall before her. But she knew where it would lead, _oh yes_ , and she walked forward, feeling resolution down to the marrow of her bones. She turned the ornate silver handle.

The sitting room was dark: a single candle perched on a desk in one corner illuminating messy piles of parchment, haphazardly stacked books, and a tray of flasks and phials. Old, slightly battered sofas stood on a faded green rug, and a much-used armchair was placed before a row of tall, narrow windows. Hermione walked into the room and closed the door behind her – it _popped_ out of existence, and she smiled to herself as she peered out of the windows and into a dark so deep it could only be the lake. _It's his old quarters_ , she realized, unsurprised yet a touch disbelieving, _he's attached his old quarters to the Head's Office somehow._ Something huge and bioluminescent whooshed by the window as she watched, and Hermione felt the temptation to sink down into the comfortable old armchair, to blow out the candle, and watch the nocturnal creatures of the underwater world sail through the night unfolding before her. Instead, she turned to the three doors along the opposite wall.

One led to a corridor and staircase that, she supposed, would take her to the opulent circular office. The second opened onto a bedroom, spare but comfortable with a modest double bed, wall-to-wall bookshelves, and a gently crackling fire. Hermione shut that door quickly, feeling a flush rising in her chest.

The third door flew open and revealed Professor Snape, his eyes wide, teeth bared, and his wand pointing straight at her heart. Hermione didn't flinch, but Snape did. He'd already mouthed the words of a curse, and he cancelled it just in time. Behind him, Hermione saw a large, breathtakingly elaborate potions laboratory.

"Is that your private lab?" she asked, entirely side-tracked. "I'd love a tour."

"What," he demanded, slamming the door shut behind him and ignoring her question, "the _hell_. Are you doing here?"

"We have to talk," Hermione answered, stepping back from where he towered over her. She felt herself do a minor double-take when she realised that her professor was missing his usual billowing robes and unadorned frock coat; instead he stood sartorially casual in white linen shirtsleeves and black trousers, and his hair was tied back so that his angular jawline and high forehead were visible.

She turned from him abruptly and seated herself on one of the squashy old sofas. "Please," she patted what it turned out to be a deep brown corduroy fabric beside her, "join me."

Snape, his face suddenly blank, walked to the other side of the room to stand with his back to the tall windows. He faced Hermione warily, hands behind him. _On his wand, I'm sure_.

"How did you get in here?"

His voice was entirely neutral, but Hermione wasn't fooled. She'd unsettled him deeply.

"Why? Are you afraid I breached what I'm guessing must be dozens, no, _hundreds_ of your defences to get here?"

"Was it Phineas?" The dark man glared briefly at an empty portrait hanging between two bookshelves. "Did he lead you down here?"

"No, he didn't. Getting here was something I _required_."

Understanding flickered in his black eyes, and Snape's shoulders visibly relaxed a degree.

"And _why_ did you require it?"

"Because I have something to tell you."

He sneered, and waved his wand behind him so that a set of deep green curtains came together over the underwater windows. Moving languidly, he sat himself on the coffee table in front of Hermione and crossed one of his legs, perching his ankle on the opposite knee, and clasping his hands in his lap. He was suddenly the confident, contemptuous Potions Master, and Hermione couldn't help the flash of _wanting_ that came over her at his nearness.

"Then I am, as always," he said slowly, "all rapt attention, Miss Granger."

"I've come to a decision."

"How magnificently exciting for you. I await the polychromatic diorama detailing your exhaustive decision-making."

"Shut up your sarcasm, Severus. It's tiresome."

His eyebrows shot up as the mask of neutrality slipped and Hermione smiled gently at his surprise. She reached forward and took one of his long hands in her own.

"I've decided… to trust you."


End file.
